


The Child of Collic's Downs

by carr_mclaine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, My first fic, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, but not really, just read the summary, mostly canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-04-08 00:06:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carr_mclaine/pseuds/carr_mclaine
Summary: A troubled young witch born on an auspicious day begins her time at Hogwarts, encountering enemies, friends, prejudices, and powerful magic. Cursed by familial loyalties but blessed by fierce independence, she learns truths of the past - both near and ancient - that could affect the future of the wizarding world.Mostly canon. Part 1 of 7. Also, this is a slow work in progress... I don't find much time to write for fun these days, so don't be surprised if updates are a few months apart.





	1. My Mother's Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I am very excited to say that this is the first fic that I have actually published anywhere, although I’ve written down a few others that will hopefully be incorporated into this one! The Harry Potter series has been a huge part of life since I was nine; reading about world of magic and wonder helped me escape from a very difficult time in my life. Writing original stories has helped me develop my creative processes, and has allowed me to explore hidden aspects of my own personality. I’m excited to combine these two passions and share with you my interpretation of the wizarding world! 
> 
> So, chapter one. You’ll find that my chapter titles are songs, as I get many of my ideas from the music that I listen to. And, as you’ll soon learn, my taste in music is wide and varied!
> 
> This chapter is mostly narration, an introduction to the characters. Things will pick up!! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Anything created by anyone other than myself, such as the incredible J.K. Rowling and in this chapter the legendary William Shakespeare, belongs to them. Anything that remains must therefore belong to me!
> 
> Enjoy!

**My Mother's Eyes**

* * *

  _"When I'm all alone, no one around me,_

_I find the future dark as can be._

_Sorrows I have known, always surround me,_

_Then through the shadows, I always see."_

_\- My Mother's Eyes_

* * *

I have my mother's eyes.

I look like her otherwise, too. Hair long and black, curly, thick. A colourless complexion, on her masked by layers of makeup, on myself giving a permanent impression of sickness. The essence of a beautiful woman graces her face; the future of beauty predicted on mine. Black is our colour, highlighting beauty past and future, contrast to ivory skin.

But I will forever resemble my mother because of our eyes. They're the same colour as the sky over the Atlantic the night after a storm; a shade of blue so dark you would mistake it for black unless you stared deeply. No twinkle of stars, no reflection of light; pure, dark, and clear, holding the memory of a storm passed. They are eyes that mourn the lost, desire the unknown, and witness horrors unflinchingly.

Hers desire to be remembered. Remembered for her loyalty, for her power, and her sacrifice. Mine desire to be forgotten. Please, forget me. Don't remember my name, my family, what they did. Let me build my own future, and let my defintion be not written by my parents.

It may be too much to ask to be forgotten when you have the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange.

* * *

I don't remember anything before I turned seven. Of course, I know what happened in those years. February 29, 1980, I was born. An auspicious day, on which I was born to two of the most evil people in the wizarding world. When I was about a year and a half, my parents tortured the Longbottoms.

I was sent to live in Collic's Downs, Ireland, with the Rastricks: my father's sister Rohesia, her husband Xavier, and their adopted son Cyrus. Cyrus was eight years older than I, and didn't want much to do with me. We were one of the two family's on Murphy's Crag, the Southern tip of the Downs. I would imagine I was raised well as a baby, because now at 11 I was relatively healthy if not a bit short for my age. I don't remember learning about my family or the Dark Lord or anything, but I must have, because I just knew things.

I knew the stories about the Boy Who Lived, of course I did. I knew that Harry Potter was a wonder of the magical world, destined for greatness. I knew that his survival and the Dark Lord's demise were the reasons my mother and father attacked the Longbottoms.

After Halloween 1981, the Death Eaters fled or were put in prison. Or, as in the case of Rohesia and Xavier, they were never found out to be Death Eaters. Their Dark Marks were always well hidden and they were excellent liars. They never showed me their marks and avoided my direct questions, but I knew. If I had to guess, I'd say they were in it for money; always greedy, Xavier would do anything for a few extra galleons, and Rohesia was a compulsive gambler. I knew well before I was seven what they were. I mean, why else would my parents entrust me to them?

My suspicions were confirmed in the late evening on a day in March 1987. I was outside, watching the Sun set from the top of the crag. Rohesia and Xavier didn't know that I snuck out most nights to watch the sunset. I did indeed sneak out on the night in question, but it certainly was not "most nights."

I didn't know his name. I would never ask. He argued with Xavier, arms flying, faces contorted, and all their words drowned out by the crashing waves of the Atlantic, matching their anger and intensity. Xavier never pulled out his wand, and neither did the other.

I don't remember him being pushed. I don't remember him tripping. I don't even remember him screaming. All I see is falling, down, down, down a cliff, a fall that should have killed him many times over. Flailing arms, legs kicking, and a desperate plea for help in his eyes as he plummeted to the ocean below where the waves would end his life. Nobody would know if he was drowned or crushed by the waves or killed on impact – or perhaps even dead well before the waves enveloped him – but the blood on the cliff wall would mark his ocean grave until the next rain.

That was the first and only time I saw someone die. I was confused and scared and angry, with so many questions. Why did he die? Was the reason born of pure rage, or something bigger? Did he slip, or was he pushed? I've since accepted that many of the answers are probably better left unknown. But still, I find myself wondering what his name was, and why he deserved to die so young, and why I never told anybody…

Fear is the answer to the latter. Xavier knew I knew, but never did anything about it. He would stare at me, eyes colder than ever before, and I knew that if I said anything, I would regret it.

After that day in March, I started getting the headaches. Stress probably caused them. My whole head would throb, making it hard to think; thoughts crashed like raging whitecaps in my mind, but my memories at this point become clear and distinct. I basically lived two lives. The first was at the Rastrick house, during meals.

* * *

The food was good, prepared by house elves, who I quite adored. When Cyrus was home, he talked about his schooling and Slytherin house and the muggle-lovers in Gryffindor, and my aunt and uncle engaged if not happily, then quite readily. When Cyrus was away, I responded to but never instigated coversation with them.

So I rarely spoke. It's not that they neglected me. On the contrary, for the longest time, I thought they spoke far too much to me. I disagreed with them on everything, and our constant diatribes aimed at each other led to the cessation of our dialogues by the time I was eight. The specific night I forced an armistice is a fond memory.

Cyrus had just begun his sixth year at Hogwarts, so the three of us sat alone at the table for sixteen.

I had managed to make it halfway through the second course without saying a word, and thought I had a chance to avoid any discourse for the evening. That dream came to an abrupt and ugly end.

"Dalaria, dear," Rohesia turned her head towards me but didn't look up from her plate. "What did you do today?"

I spoke more to my food than to her. "Nothing much. Cleaned my room, read a bit." I took a large bite of potatoes and swallowed before adding: "Helped Benji with his partridges."

"Dalaria," Xavier said deeply. "What did we tell you about going around with that boy and his family?" He spoke with mild contempt, although whether it was directed at myself or Benji was unclear. He made eye contact with me, but continued eating.

Politely setting down my cutlery, I replied: "Well, sir, you told me not to be going around with Benji Hudson and his family."

"Reason being?"

With reluctance, I said: "You don't want the Rastrick family to be known associates of muggles. The Rastrick blood must remain pure." Xavier nodded approvingly and his food became once again more interesting than I. Only for a moment though. "However, sir, and with all due respect, as, you know, this is a free nation and a free era, and you are entitled to your opinion and all," I paused as two sets of startled eyes fell on my face. "I disagree."

"You do." Xavier's voice was a cool whisper, distate and contempt flavouring his disyallabic phrase.

"Yes, I do. Benji is my friend. I like him." I added as an afterthought: "I like his partridges too."

Silence. When they didn't reply, I continued eating.

"You ignored my request."

I swallowed and set down my fork again, feigning exasperation and hiding terror. "Oh no, I didn't ignore your request, which, by the way, I'd consider more of a direct order. On the contrary, I gave it a lot of thought and decided that I disagreed with you. So, this wasn't done out of ignorance so much as blatant disobedience." I nodded and gave a small, proud smile.

Xavier stood, calm but furious. He was used to submission, unquestioned authority, and now a small girl of only eight sat before him admitting freely that she had disobeyed him. He spoke evenly. "We are a family of the purest blood. We pride ourselves on associating only with those of equal pureness. We have sacrificed so much to maintain the hierarchy of the wizarding world, with those filthy muggles on the bottom, and muggle-lovers a close second. If your mother knew-"

I stood at this, nearly four heads below the man. And so began my final siege in this war that had begun when I first learned to talk:

"If my _mother_ knew? If my mother knew I was friends with a muggle, she would kill me! She's a bloody psychopath! She killed and tortured for no cause except her own! It's not about superiority but about _murder_ and _power_. It has nothing to do with blood, and everything to do with blood! All your 'sacrifice?' What did it get you? The Death Eaters are dead, or in prison, or hiding like cowards. The Dark Lord is gone, and the world knows that what you did is wrong, so wrong. Your work, your passion, your purpose? All gone now, because love and respect and kindness will always prevail over evil and darkness and suffering. As for upholding the family name? You think I give a damn about the bloody Rastrick name? I am a Lestrange. I don't care how my actions tarnish your name, I care how they rebuild mine. Muggleborn, pureblood, none of it matters! We're all people, all human. Have you read William Shakespeare? _The Merchant of Venice?_ 'If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?' " I stopped abruptly; Rohesia's pale eyes showed shock, Xavier's, rage. "That was Shylock's line."

As you can tell, I was very intelligent, even from a young age.

"You _dare_ to talk like that in this house?" He stepped slowly around the table, as I circled backwards, aiming towards the door. "You quote that muggle filth? You don't deserve to sit at our table, to eat our meals, to–"

At that moment, I made my exit. Dashing out of the dining room arch, I heard Xavier curse me – not with a spell, mind you. I knew I had won, although perhaps it may not have seemed it to the outward observer. But Xavier never fumed as he had. As a winner he was arrogant and gloating, as a punisher, cold, cruel, and dauntingly calm. Xavier attempting physical intimidation meant he couldn't win a war of wits. It's the last to fire a shot in a war that decides the terms of the truce, and I certainly had provoked Xavier into my submission with my last artillery battering of words.

However, I still decided I might spend the night away from the Rastrick house.

* * *

And there begins the story of my second life. Everyday, I rose well before sunrise, and ran along the crag to the Hudson farm, where I spent my time between the obligatory meals with the Rastricks.

Benji Hudson was my best friend. He was born February 28, 1980, a day before me, and most years, I celebrated my "birthday" with him. I never lied to him about my family's crimes. Of course, I couldn't tell him about magic and whatnot, so I suppose I did withhold segments of truth from him.

Really, he was my only friend growing up. I was always a bit different to the children of the Downs so they mostly left me alone. But Benji was different too, in a way unlike my differences. To the other neighbours, I was the unnaturally pale child, disobedient, sarcastic, and ungrateful for my aunt and uncle's hospitality. I was too smart for my own good, and I was far too quiet, always listening, observing, thinking. Most of all, my eyes were disturbingly dark and inquisitive, with a look like they could read one's soul. I wouldn't say I was particularly positive as a young child, as I tended to see the worse in people before the good; however, I always knew that the world needed more good, and I suppose that's why I was so drawn to Benji.

Benji was a different sort of different. Not for his looks, though. He had always been tall, and not skinny but not big. His hair was dark brown, longer than most boys, with soft waves. And his eyes were clear, bright grey, twinkling like stars. The sort of boy you might not give a second glance, but you would be glad if you did.

Benji Hudson was different simply because he was kind to everyone. He never questioned why he shouldn't be polite and cordial to any person who happened to cross his path. He saw the goodness in everyone, and couldn't understand why others never did the same. Benji looked for a silver lining in every negative, and I never heard him speak ill of anyone or anything. I enjoyed his positivity, but to the neighbours, he was hopelessly optimistic, inappropriately cheery, and much too trusting.

We must have seemed an odd pair.

But we got on just fine; we told each almost everything, and I loved him like a brother and he loved me like a sister. I don't remember how we first met, but I think we must have bonded over broken families.

You see, Benjamin "Benji" Hudson the III was the son of Ben Hudson Jr., son of Benjamin Hudson Sr., the very same Benjamin Hudson Sr. who had been a well known drug dealer in 1960's Ireland, untouchable due to an unending supply of bloodied money and crooked politicians. Ben Jr. was supposed to continue the family business, but as soon as he turned 18, moved away from his home in Glasgow and settled down in the Downs, ironically, as a police officer. There, he eloped with Ellie Drearie, a girl of old money made from Irish Ale, whose parents didn't approve of the marriage for whatever reason. A few months after the secret wedding, the happy couple found themselves expecting. Tragically, when the boy was only three months old, his father was killed while in the line of duty.

The older Hudsons and Drearies approached the young mother often, with offers of money and support, both in hope of a new, young heir to continue with the family business, forcing her to choose between drugs or alcohol. Ellie, wanting nothing to do with either, repeatedly declined and raised Benji at home, keeping partridges as pets, and selling artwork out of their small home for money.

Benji could respect that I rarely wanted to discuss my family, and I could do the same for him. Ellie, I knew, struggled to make money, but she was happy; she had Benji, her partridges, and her small house with a beautiful view over the cliff. I think she kind of thought of me as her daughter, and she was a mother figure to me.

I spent my days with the Hudsons, painting with Ellie or running through the woods with Benji or watching the sun rise from their side of the crag. I would go "home" for most meals, but the muggle snacks Ellie baked were always superior to the house elf food. The night I angered Xavier and ran out of the house, I slept over at the Hudsons. The next few years, I would spend more and more nights there, as I would continue to irritate the Rastricks – although now with my actions, not my words, as we had, as I previously mentioned, agreed to a sort of truce of verbal battles. When I knew I had gone to far with my reading of muggle works, or hadn't done my chores, I would go there. If Xavier was drunk, I would go there. When we had visitors, usually other former Death Eaters, I would go there. It was the only place I felt safe in all of the Downs, safe from my family, and safe from the judgemental eye of the faraway neighbours.

We began watching the sun set as well as rise; we'd have to run through the woods to the East Crag, where the Rastrick house stood, and sneak around so as not to trigger the magical wards, or to agitate the Jolly Juniper (which would laugh uncontrollably anytime someone walked passed). Benji and I would sit on a ledge looking down on the ocean, not too far from where that man had died. We'd dangle our legs over edge, and not say a word.

* * *

The night after a storm was always the prettiest. The sky was the darkest, purest blue you could ever imagine. There's no light pollution in the Downs, so no blur or blemish damages the navy canvas. You can tell a storm has passed; it still feels heavy, like another is coming. When you look at the almost-black sky by itself, the stars are erased, and all you're left with is darkness and loneliness and fear for what will come and what has passed.

The stars after a storm twinkle still, and, when you look at them, can block out the oppressiveness of the near-black blanket shrouding the world for a few hours. But, after millions of years of shining, they always are most tired after a storm; only to the most faithful observer sees this, though, the one who watches the stars tirelessly, seeing the small changes and weaknesses no one else will. The storm has taken away the star's wonder.

Alone, the sky and the stars lose themselves when a storm ends. Up above, where most people see them, they are independent of each other, alone. They are both drained, their draw fading, and people look away and life goes on.

But where the stars and the sky dance, they come to life. The ocean reflects them in strange patterns, blurring the lights of the shining orbs with the smooth shadow of the heavens. New life, new meaning, new purpose appears in the dancing stars, which gleam and sparkle, uniquely shining for the individual viewing them. They move with the darkness; they show the world the hidden softness and serenity of the gloomy sky, and they teach the sky to be free, to dance. The sky, in return, shows its lesser known side, the cold isolation of dark night turning to warm, intimate interactions with the waves, constantly changing but ultimately retaining the confident independence that defines its identity and beauty. The watery night teaches the reflected stars to shine with such brilliance, to grow in brightness beyond the vast ocean, so that each one twinkles like it exists solely in the universe.

When the stars and the sky dance, they become one flickering surface over a vast depth, immense and shared – what lies beneath known only to them. After a storm, many will look up at a sparkling dark canvas, seeing an image that always remains the same; millions of lights, all the same, none all that impressive, speckled on a cold shadow of nothingness. But, if you look down at the water, you'll see the ballet of the stars and the sky, where every star is as bright and brilliant as ever, the darkness forgets to be lonesome, and all that matters in the moment is the perfection unfolding below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple notes for this chapter:
> 
> 1\. I hope you enjoyed Chapter 1! More to come soon! Sorry if you don't enjoy the poetic stuff :) I do.
> 
> 2\. I quote from William Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, Act III, scene i, lines 56-59.
> 
> 3\. Finally, this chapter is quite a bit shorter than most others will be, so if you don't enjoy long chapters, don't say I didn't warn you!


	2. Come By the Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! So now that you know the story's premise, I have to say that the idea of Bellatrix having a daughter the same age as Harry has always intrigued me. I wondered what she would be like, who she would be friends with, and how she would influence the Second Wizarding War. I have lots of ideas and I am open to suggestions and comments! Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own only what I have created, and what anybody else has created and therefore owns, I thank them so much for giving me inspiration and a wonderful world to experiment with!

**Come By The Hills**

* * *

_"Come by the hills to the land where legend remains_

_The stories of old fill our hearts and may yet come again_

_Where the past has been lost and the future is still to be won_

_And the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done."_

_\- Come By the Hills_

* * *

 

If the Rastrick house wasn't exactly the warmest and most loving house to grow up in, then the wonder of Collic's Downs made up for lost childhood fantasies. The Downs was on the coast of Northern Ireland, a half hour North of Belfast, with a village or two between.

It's an island, just less than a pebble's toss away from the shoreline, but the rocky crag, shakily rising up above the mainland cliffs, makes it too dangerous to build a bridge. That's Murphy's Crag, a precarious section of rocky land, fertile enough for a few pines but not much else to grow. Only us and the Hudson's lived on the crag, just ten metres above sea level; the crashing of the waves through the strait between the two cliffs paired with howling winds, unprotected by forest, made this area the worst during storms. We lived on the West side, with a path through the woods to the Hudsons on the East.

To the North West lies the Loch; I think it had a name a long time ago, but now, it's just the Loch. There's hills and woods between us and them, so we don't see them much. Not that I'd want to anyways; they're rather full of themselves. North of them, residing at sea level, are the people bordering Purgatory Bay, a small cove that's protected from almost all winds. The ferries from the mainland come into the Bay, bringing food and water and supplies for the population of half a thousand. A road connects the Loch families to the Baymen, winding along Nelson's Brook, which brings freshwater from the Loch slowly to its salty counterpart.

From the Bay, you can drive up to the East, to the highest part of the Downs: Kelly's Peak. If the Downs could be considered to have a town square, the Lighthouse on the Peak would be it. Weddings, funerals, elections, graduations, football parties – anything of importance happens at the Lighthouse. The hospital, school, church and police-slash-fire house are at Kelly's Peak, as well as the store and most homes. The main industry is fishing; farming is no good, and there isn't much for tourists, but the fishing is good enough to sustain such a small economy.

From the Peak, you can drive through the woods that cover the centre of the island, up and down on a winding dirt road, until you reach the Crag once again in the South. Here the road diverges, and you choose to go to the Rastricks or the Hudsons.

Collic's Downs is pretty enough, with rolling hills and lovely views and untamed forests. If you were to walk through the small, isolated communities, you wouldn't be surprised by much by the people; we're your typical proud Irish people, with perhaps a few more drunkards per capita than the norm, but all friendly enough. However, the draw of the island is undisputed; it's magical. It is a muggle community; as far as I know, the Rastricks and I were the only magical people in the Downs. The Downs captivates those who pace across its land, erasing thoughts of the Leitrim, Ireland, and the world.

There is a certain extraordinary wonder to the place; a down-to-earth beauty that's hard to find in this world. It's a place where you can tell a storm is coming days before the weatherman tells you so, where you watch the waves crash against your front porch and the wind makes sad music in the trees. You find a special freedom when lost in the forest, where even the cynics find youthful innocence. The sea is wild, yet constant; predictable while always changing. The Sun shines but no children run out and play. No, they wait until the gales blow, the buildings shake, and the roads flood with rain to delight in the wonders of the natural world. Isolated from the rest of the country, with people spread out thinly across the island and a near constant battering of Atlantic storms, the tone of the Downs is one of unending sombreness, yet full of hope and mystery. It's a place of paradoxes, where it seems anything might be possible if everyone just believed. There, even the most skeptical of muggles might just believe that magic exists. It's one of the few places left that boasts the true Irish spirit, ingrained in the trees and rocks, thriving in the people's blood.

The Lestrange family is Irish; we have been for a long time. I heard that we just took up the Lestrange name to throw off somebody tracking our family centuries ago. The Blacks aren't Irish. No, they're proudly English, proudly purebloods. Sirius, it seems, followed the same path as my mother, and the two siblings were spending quality time in Azkaban. Narcissa married Lucius Malfoy; my cousin Draco was an arrogant ass like his father, but I always thought Aunt Cissy had a softer side, manipulated by her family. I think I must have taken more after Andromeda, who married a muggle. Not that there was any muggle I was thinking of marrying.

By blood, I'm half-Irish, but I've always considered myself to be full. I've often been told I have the green fire inside of me, like the Irish of old, and I am much more proud of that than for being a pureblooded witch.

Everyone in Collic's Downs is very proud of their heritage. You see, Collic's Downs has an old history, one filled with power, tyranny, war and belief. I first heard the story on my eleventh birthday (although, of course, it wasn't really my birthday, just an honorary one). I was spending the night at the Hudson house. Ellie had a wide selection of snacks and cakes out, and the three of us sat staring out the window. Snow drifted softly through the night, and the ocean was eerily still. We were watching the moon, not quite full yet, and the clouds float across the heavenly canvas.

"It's a battle night," Ellie said. Benji nodded.

I frowned slightly, and, not taking my eyes from the beauty outside, asked, "A what?"

"A battle night," Ellie repeated. "You've never heard the story?"

I turned toward her. "What story?"

Benji grinned and ran to sit by the fire, grabbing a cushion for himself and another for me. "It's my favourite story! Mum, tell her! The good one!"

Ellie smiled warmly. "Alright. Sit down, Dally." I obliged, grabbing a Paris bun and the bowl of popcorn.

Ellie sat on the couch opposite us, and began.

And so follows the tale of the Battle of Collic's Downs:

* * *

_Back in the year 1342, the Downs were called just that; the Downs, or, in Gaelic, the Rèidhleach. She belonged to no one, and neither did the people. People simply lived there, in an arrangement similar to the modern plan. A few families lived round the Loch, more by the Bay, and many up on the Peak. The Lighthouse was impressive; tall and strong, with a flame always being kept up top, although nobody ever went up there to rekindle it. You see, old lore says that the Rèidhleach was at one time, filled with magic; the magic of the Irish. Old Gaelic blood runs through these stones, breathing magical life into the people who spend their lives believing in it, and the people of the Rèidhleach certainly believed in it. Magic may or may not have existed elsewhere in the country or in the world, but there was something special about the Rèidhleach. People lived long, and though storms pounded, they never took a single structure down. Not to say that enchantresses and warlocks graced these lands, simply that the hills themselves possessed some sort of extraordinary, curious, gift. There was no government or military or policing force in the Rèidhleach. There was no need for it. The people of the Rèidhleach were peaceful and lived, for the most part, without so much as a drunk farmer intimidating the young ladies._

_The same couldn't be said for the mainland. There, uprisings took place in the shore communities. There was a man named Aidrian. He was very powerful, and very evil. He had an army who would do anything for him: capture, torture, rape, and kill. Not even children were spared. Aidrian was worst tyrant Ireland has ever seen. For ten years, he terrorized the Northern country, gaining followers and leaving blood and tears in his wake. Eventually, though, he was driven by enemy armies to the North coast of what is now Leitrim county, right across from the Rèidhleach. The enemy would be there in less than an hour, coming from all directions, so Aidrian did the only thing he could; he fled across the crag to the Rèidhleach, his last resort, with 1,000 men, leaving the rest to be slaughtered by the advancing army. The tiny population of the Rèidhleach was overwhelmed quickly, and Aidrian announced himself as their ruler. He put sentries around the island to inform of an attack, and built weapons with the stone and trees that would replace themselves in mere months. The citizens were put in prisons; the children on the crag as a warning to the mainlanders, and the men and women near the Loch. Aidrian himself built his throne by the Lighthouse, where he, his generals, and a few select servants and prisoners lived. The rest of his men lived at the Bay._

_The prisoners were starved and neglected, denied basic hygiene and forced to engage in hard physical labour for hours on end. The men were trained to be soldiers, told if they didn't fight for Aidrian, they children would be thrown from the cliffs and their wives tortured. Aidrian didn't expect to gain a kingdom for the Rèidhleach; he knew that he had lost his battle a long time before. Rather, he wanted to prove he was a force to be feared until his death, to induce as much suffering as possible before his demise. Meanwhile, the Rèidhleach herself tried to fight back against its captors; storms got worse and the sea became deadly, but this resulted only in more deaths of its beloved inhabitants._

_On the mainland, many great generals tried to devise a way to overpower Aidrian, but all would end up with the ultimate conclusion of risking the lives of the innocent. Another two years passed, until one day, three men came along. These men were powerful leaders, ethical fighters, strong-willed Irishmen. Their names we remember as Trevet MacNèidh, Caulun MacCeallaich, and Aralt Caughlich. They came forward with a strategy to save the lives of the Rèidhleach people, and promised to destroy Aidrian and his men. They asked only two things of the generals: first, that they be permitted to use their own armies, who would travel from across Ireland and the world to fight; and second, that they be supplied with the best healer in the vicinity to train their armies in the finer points of war medicine._

_The generals gladly obliged, and within a month, the great army was there, a thousand men strong. The healer they provided, though, gave the men some skepticism. Airmed Ó Murchadha had grown up on the Rèidhleach, escaping Aidrian himself when they invaded her home. She was always a bit odd; she claimed she was a bit psychic, and could foresee a man's death. At first, MacNèidh, MacCeallaich, and Caughlich scoffed at her, deeming her strange and brooding, with disturbingly intent eyes. However, they could not deny her impressive strength as a healer, and, as it turned out, she was excellent in duelling with a knife. Reluctantly, they agreed to let her join the armies in their invasion of the Rèidhleach._

_A month later, on a calm day in mid-January, the battle – which would later come to be immortalized as the Battle of Rèidhleach Caughlich– began._

_The exact strategy has been lost with time. How did they get to the island? Where did all the soldiers come from? These questions, and many others, we likely will not know the answer to. But, we can say with certainty that there were four parts to the battle:_

_Aralt Caughlich was clearly the leader of the siege, with immense strength and an intense fighting spirit. He, along with his right-hand man Caulun MacCeallaich led the first battalion of men in the initial attack on the Bay, with the intent of wiping out the first string of Aidrian soldiers. Taking their strongest men, they advanced East, up to the Peak where Aidrian had stood, watching his men die for him. There, Caughlich and MacCeallaich's men would fight for weeks. Though largely outnumbered, they were constantly replenished by Ó Murchadha's healing, and by the Rèidhleach itself began to lend its strength to the men._

_Meanwhile, Trevet MacNèidh came in behind the previous attack on the Bay with his men, a small group of determined, but significantly weaker, soldiers. They engaged in battle with Aidrian's men for weeks in the small Bay, drawing more and more men from the Crag and the Loch, leaving the prisoners unattended. Our heroes' men fought valiantly, defying death more than once, and although Aidrian's men were felled at a faster rate, the soldier's would soon succumb to mistake-inducing exhaustion. One day, the Bay was so distilled with blood and filled with bodies from both sides that even the dories couldn't move through the water. From then on, it came to be known as Purgatory Bay; mercilessly murderous, ending the lives of both good and evil, a resting place for all death. Aidrian's forces were weakened greatly, and didn't notice as MacNèidh and a group of men snuck up from the Bay, along the Brook, to the Loch. They walked in water the whole way, to avoid being tracked or getting lost. They fought many small fights along the way, advancing so slowly, and sending one man ahead each day to check on the Loch. The Rèidhleach had, unbeknownst to MacNèidh, made the Brook perfectly drinkable, and provided fresh fish that had never before ventured down the Brook; the Rèidhleach, once again, was giving strength to the people fighting for her. They finally reached their destination after five days of painfully slow movements, and stormed the prisons, releasing the Rèidhleach men and women. Very little resistance came from the exhausted guards, who were subsequently locked away. MacNèidh took his few remaining men to the Peak to aid his colleagues in their final battle._

_After MacNèidh's men suffered a bloodbath and he had moved on to the Loch, Airmed Ó Murchadha led a small group of clever, nimble men into Purgatory Bay, up to the Peak, and then South to the Crag. She didn't plan to lead them to battle. They weren't even needed to heal the wounded, as a pair of healer was assigned to each battalion led by her three male companions. They had one job; free the children. The children had suffered so much, she wondered if they even were children anymore. When the battle began in the Bay, the first sent to assist in the fighting were the guards at the Crag. This had left the children alone, imprisoned, without food or water. However, the Rèidhleach had provided a gift to her children. She allowed them to live; her very stones breathed the essence of vitality into the young ones, and somehow, they had survived neglected and starved for weeks. When Ó Murchadha arrived at the Crag, she found the children sitting together, laughing and yelling. Acting like children. Her men, specifically chosen for their cleverness and light feet, rigged a pulley system to bring the children to dories waiting at the bottom of the Crag. There was then just Ó Murchadha and a young infant, not a year old, left, waiting for the dory to return. She held the young boy closely to her chest. The night was still, yet restless. The Rèidhleach knew something was wrong, and gave Ó Murchadha, her favourite daughter, a surge of courage and strength, just in time._

_"Hello there, lassie," said an amused voice from behind the young woman. "Bit late to be out alone. There's some real dangerous people in these parts."_

_She didn't turn around, knowing full well that there was not just one man behind her. The infant in her arms was fast asleep. She couldn't reach for her knife, for that would surely end the innocent life she held before it had even started."Let the child go. He's not one of your soldiers, nor one of mine. This isn't his war. This is our war."_

_The man who spoke began to slowly circle her. "Now, now, don't be so rash with your choices. You have two options here: First, give us the boy, and we'll take good care of him. Feed him, clothe him, find him a mum. And you can walk away unharmed. You have my word."_

_"Of what value is your word?" Ó Murchadha received no answer as the man continued._

_"Your second option is this: this baby can leave, he can go with the one coming in the dory. You come with us. You would belong to us, and you would be at Aidrian's mercy, and he isn't a very merciful man. Although," he said, taking a stance behind her and placing his hands on her hips. "He may be nice to a pretty young thing like you."_

_"Take me," Ó Murchadha whispered without hesitation. "Take me, and leave him."_

_The man kept his word; the young boy was sent off into the shaking hands of Ó Murchadha's soldier and friend, while Ó Murchadha became the property of Aidrian and his men._

_And this is where the fourth and final part of the battle begins. For weeks, the fighting at the Peak raged on, with no side gaining or losing much territory. Men died, on both sides, more rapidly and violently. The Rèidhleach was exhausted of her powers, and could no longer stand the constant battering and demand placed upon her. Instead, she gave her last bit of strength and spirit to Ó Murchadha, who suffered greatly at her captor's mercy._

_MacNèidh was the first of the leaders to die. He died protecting one of the young men who had been rescued from imprisonment just months previous. The boy went on to die only days later. One of Aidrian's generals was next, prompting two vicious attacks: one on the tent in which Caughlich slept after two full days of battle, and one on the poor girl in Aidrian's captivity. Caughlich was killed. Ó Murchadha would forever wish she had been._

_Following Caughlich's death, morale plummeted. He was their Achilles. But far more than just a great warrior, he was a leader; he was the inspiration to go on, and now, that was gone. The battle drearily waged on, and by the fateful evening of the Peak's fall, it had been six full months since blood was first drawn. By this time, only a few straggling soldiers remained on each side. MacCeallaich decided to end the battle with the person who had started it. Just after the Sun dipped under the horizon, he slipped out of the camp where most of his men lay dying or dreaming of death. Clambering up the Peak, he made it to the Lighthouse, unabated by anyone. He snuck into the general's quarters, and, before taking a blade to their throats, interrogated them on Aidrian's whereabouts: he was at the Crag. Before heading South, MacCeallaich carved into the wooden frame of the Lighthouse his family crest. The Peak was his. But there was no celebration. He just walked._

_It was a pristine night; lovely if not for the remnants of death palpable in the air. He reached the Crag shortly, and heard a voice, unmistakably the chilling calm accent of Aidrian._

_"It's nearly over, love. Your precious Rèidhleach is dying, your people are dying, and soon, so shall you. I can end it all, now. Your suffering, your pain. It doesn't have to go on. You know how to end it."_

_"I won't say it." It was Ó Murchadha who spoke, shaky, hoarse._

_"Three words? You won't say three words? 'I am yours.' That's all, and I can stop this all. Or perhaps you need more convincing?" Aidrian took a step towards the woman, brandishing a long knife._

_Ó Murchadha's eyes focused on the blade with wary horror and familiarity and she flinched. She was brave, she must have been for coming to battle. But at her fear, MacCeallaich knew that there was no fight left in her. He must end this now._

_"Aidrian. It's over. The Peak has been taken." MacCeallaich advanced slowly._

_The evil tyrant was unsurprised, and didn't turn to look at MacCeallaich. "I thought it might end soon. But don't think you've won. No, no, no._ _I have won. MacNèidh died failing to save a boy's life. Caughlich, he was your leader. He was the backbone of your entire army, and now the backbone is gone, and you're all just flailing about, letting me win." He laughed and strode towards Ó Murchadha, who didn't even struggle as he brought his knife point to her throat. "You let me do ghastly things to this woman. You let her and your men suffer and die. You failed Caughlich, and you failed the Rèidhleach, and while you may be remembered for winning the Peak, you will be forgotten for dying a coward." Aidrian pressed the knife harder against her skin, never breaking her eye contact. "MacCeallaich, look at her. She wants to die. She's not even fighting me. And you, in all your honour, can't do anything but let her die, because you know that she can't live with the things I did to her."_

_MacCeallaich lunged. The knife blade pierced Ó Murchadha's skin, drawing blood. The two men rolled, both propelling the other, closer and closer to the edge until there was nothing._

_Falling, down, down, down. Tumbling, they showed neither fear nor regret. The last thought to echo across both their minds was one and the same: "I win."_

_The battle was over, with more dead than alive. The victory was somber; the living soldiers would all die alone and unhappy, and Ó Murchadha would go on to suffer greatly from her traumatic sacrifice._

_The descendants of the battle's heroes memorialize their ancestors by name. After Aralt Caughlich, the great leader, the island was named Rèidhleach Caughlich, or Collic's Downs. Buaic MacCeallaich, or Kelly's Peak, would remind inhabitants of his sacrifice. The Brook would take the name Sruth MacNèidh, Nelson's Brook, after the altruistic Trevet MacNèidh. And the Crag where the battle ended would retain Airmed Ó Murchadha's unbroken spirit and dignity under it's title as Ó Murchadha Aill, Murphy's Crag._

_So, when you walk past the Peak, the Brook, or the Crag, when you stroll down the roads and swim in Purgatory Bay, or when you wander about on a calm mid-winter evening, remember those who died fighting for the power of love and goodness. And, if you can, ignore the living life around you, and feel the other life beneath you and around you, the blood in the stones, the minds in the trees, the heartbeat in the air; that is the Rèidhleach. She is still there, tired as ever. But, if you just close your eyes and just believe, you might just find yourself filled with a touch of magic, pride, and true Irish spirit._

_And so ends the tale of the Battle of Rèidhleach Caughlich._

* * *

Hours later, I lay in my sleeping bag on the floor of Benji's room. The story ran through my mind again and again. It confused me.

"Benji?" I whispered.

"Yeah?" I heard from slightly above me.

"Was that a true story?"

Benji turned over on his side to look down on me. "The one mum told?" I nodded. "Well, I reckon it's a bit embellished, what with the magic and all that, but they teach it in school. The story without magic, that is."

"Why d'you suppose that is?" I asked. "That they don't talk about the version with magic?"

"Well, " he said softly, turning again onto his back. "They don't believe in magic, I'd guess."

"Do you? Believe in magic?"

I could hear the smile in his voice as he said: "I'd like to. It's a fantastic story! The island, living, breathing, protecting her family! Unexplained and mystic occurrences! It's the stuff of a child's dreams!"

Suddenly, he rolled off his bed onto the floor with me. "But that's just it: child's dreams. They make up the story and the magic to make the real history less scary to us kids."

"But why?" I moved over so he could take some of my blanket.

"Imagine the story without the magic; without the Downs herself protecting everyone. It means that they were alone. It makes the evil more scary." He paused and smiled at me. "But that doesn't mean that magic doesn't exist."

I smiled back, and kissed him on the cheek. "Night, Benji."

"Night, Dally."

* * *

The next morning, I left after a late breakfast. As I passed their front gate, I noticed two large white owls flying from the South. It was a beautiful sight; majestic snowy creatures against a grey sky, rolling green hills in the background. The sort of thing Ellie would enjoy painting.

I returned home to find the Rastricks in the sitting room, reading. "Morning."

"Good morning, Dalaria," Rohesia said with a light smile. Xavier didn't acknowledge me. "I hope you had a nice birthday?"

"Yes, it was very nice, thank you." I spoke politely, hoping not to provoke an unpleasant situation. Rohesia nodded politely in return, and resumed reading. Sitting down across from my relatives, I quietly waited until one of them noticed I was still there.

As Xavier went to turn the page of his book, he spotted me. "Yes?"

I cleared my throat. "Well, I was just wondering about something. Something that El– Mrs. Hudson told me." Xavier raised his eyebrows, and I continued. "She told a story about the history of Collic's Downs, about where the different names came from from. You know, who Murphy and Nelson and Kelly were? The story was fantastic! The Downs, or the Rèidhleach, were magical, and protected the people when a bad man took over. She said that the story was just a fable, and Benji, he agreed. They said that it was just embellishment of war to make it less scary for children. I figured they were muggles, so of course they would think that! But I thought you might know if any of that was true? I mean, you've lived here your whole life, so one of you must have heard the story."

Xavier spoke after a minute of silence. "Your muggle friends were right for once. The story is just that, a story. The history is, I believe, fairly accurate. But I know of no magical significance to the Downs."

"Nor do I," said Rohesia. "The Lestranges, we were the only magical family here for many generations. Most married witches and wizards from other parts of Ireland or England and moved there, but there was always someone from the family here. The only people of the Downs with knowledge of real magic, with the exception of Cyrus, are in this room."

I nodded. "I was just curious."

Xavier wore a look of mild approval for the first time in years. "Curiosity about magic is perfectly fine. Just be careful that you don't reveal anything to those not worthy." The Hudsons, he meant. "Speaking of magic and curiosity, you're eleven now. The mail should be arriving any minute now."

I had completely forgotten; today was the big day! I would receive my ticket away from this place for the next seven years. Two minutes later, a pecking at the window notified us that the mail had indeed arrived. The beautiful bird dropped off a _Daily Prophet_ for Xavier, a _Witch Weekly_ for Rohesia, and a letter addressed in green ink to:

_Miss Dalaria Leigh Galena Lestrange_

_Rastrick House, North West Most Room, Third Floor_

_East Murphy's Crag, Collic's Downs_

_Leitrim, Ireland_

I snatched up the letter and ran up the stairs to my bedroom. I flopped on the bed and ripped open the letter.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL**

**_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY**

**Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore**

**( _Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_**

**_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_ **

**Dear Miss Lestrange,**

**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**

**Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.**

**Yours sincerely,**

**Minerva McGonagall**

**_Deputy Headmistress_ **

A rush of excitement ran through me. Only six months until I wouldn't have to deal with the Rastricks any more! That also meant only six months left with Benji. I let that thought sadly escape my mind, and went to the next page, which listed the books and things I'd need for my first year. I couldn't wait to start reading!

I was surprised to find one more page folded up in the envelope.

_Dear Dalaria (or Dally, as I've heard you prefer),_

_We at Hogwarts look forward to accepting you as a student for the next seven years, and hope you will find your time here exceptionally enriching. Your year will consist of an extraordinarily unusual bunch of students, you being one of them. I thought that before you arrived here, I should, as your muggle friends might say, acknowledge the elephant in the room by saying that I and the staff are well aware of your parents' situation, as are, I would imagine, many of the students._

_I am well aware of your vehement demurral to the actions and beliefs of your parental figures, and would like you to know that I have informed the staff to be aware of their own prejudices towards your family. I will not deny that many here, staff and students alike, will hold rather negative views towards your attendance at our institution, but I wish you to feel welcome and safe during your educational career. This being said, I must ask you to respect those who may hold resentment towards the Lestrange name. Correct them, certainly, using whatever peaceful measures you deem fit, but respect their fears and misguided prejudices. I will allow you the opportunity make your own name and reputation, but if at any time you feel threatened by members of the student body, I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety and dignity._

_I personally look forward to having you as a student at our fine academy, and expect great things to come from you. Enjoy your summer, and we shall be expecting you in September._

_Regards,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

_Names are curious things, aren't they?_

The headmaster had sent me a personal letter? I appreciated the time, of course, but wondered exactly what he was expecting for my first year at Hogwarts? And what did he mean by the thing about names? The biggest name of the wizarding world, Harry Potter would be in my year. I was sure he would be popular and arrogant; his father, may he rest in peace, was much the same, I had heard. He would have a lot against anyone with the name of a Death Eater, certainly. But then, I wasn't a Death Eater, was I? Some of the Weasleys would probably be in school, and I don't think they would be too fond of myself.

And then, there was Neville. What would that meeting be like?

And what about Draco, and all his friends? They all grew up together, him and Crabbe and Goyle and Zabini and that Parkinson girl. All bigots, like their parents. All Slytherins, for generations, like the Lestranges and the Rastricks and the Blacks.

_Merlin, don't put me in Slytherin._

While excitement mixed with dread, I decided to keep Dumbledore's letter to myself.

* * *

March through August passed rather uneventfully. I had a nice summer with Benji, running down to the Bay by daylight, and at night, watching the stars float through the sky carelessly. I had waited until July to tell him I'd be leaving for school, as I figured that's when most muggle schools let out and would accept new students. I told him I'd be off to Scotland for school. He laughed, called me a Scot, a traitor to Ireland, and admitted that he too would be off to school in the fall, in London.

He had told me one night as we lay on the grass of the Crag, looked up at the man in the moon. "I did some testing a few months ago with this special school there for, um, gifted students. Because I was homeschooled and all, they were a bit reluctant, but I was accepted! They teach more advanced courses than a regular school and I'll live there all year, 'cept for Christmas and summer of course, so we'll see each other, and I'll see my family then too, and I don't think they let you leave for the first few years but after that I can probably get to Scotland—" He had stopped short. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Benji Hudson."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The letter is exactly the same as the one in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, 1998 hardcover edition, page 51 (with the name of the recipient changed, obviously). I do not own that piece of writing, and give full credit to Ms. Rowling!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the Battle story! This will be a very important narrative for the rest of my tale!


	3. Werewolves of London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I was working in the OR this week, and while waiting for the surgeon to arrive for a procedure, the patient talked about watching The Godfather for the first time that weekend. Meanwhile, the song Werewolves of London played on the radio. This odd combination was a sort of inspiration for this chapter!
> 
> And, as always, nothing in J.K. Rowling's Wizarding World belongs to me! I'm not nearly brilliant enough to come up with something so incredible! Enjoy!

**Werewolves of London**

* * *

 

 

_"I saw a werewolf drinking a piña colada at Trader Vic's."_

_\- Werewolves of London_

* * *

On August 28, Rohesia took me to London. Xavier had some business to attend to in Dublin (although what he actually did, I wasn't sure). Cyrus had been at home for most of the summer, although I don't recall seeing him much. I think he spent a lot of time on the mainland, where a couple of his friends from school lived.

I would be staying with the Malfoys until September 1, and I was not particularly happy about it. However, I was excited to get back to Diagon Alley. I hadn't been for ages, and never right before school started, when all the students and their families were out and about, shopping and fretting and worrying. Rohesia alone took me to the Alley. Draco had already picked up his school supplies; he told me he met Harry Potter and that the famed Boy Who Lived was a stupid git. That's not saying much, coming from another stupid git.

We arrived at Charing Cross Road and entered the Leaky Cauldron. I wanted to walk around London a bit, because cities fascinated me. Not to live in, but just to explore. There could be more people on one city block than in all Leitrim County! But Rohesia insisted that we just get to Diagon Alley and back to the Malfoy Manor as fast as possible.

"There's far too many muggles around here," she said. "We'd stand out and they'd ask us questions, and I'm not in the mood to deal with _them_."

Correction: _she_ would stand out in her deep purple robes. I wore denim pants and a black buttoned coat, muggle clothes, which I found were much more comfortable than robes. I suppose it was for the best that we took as little time as possible, as I was developing a bit of a headache; I suspected spending the day with my family was the cause.

As we entered the Leaky Cauldron, a few heads turned, and Rohesia approached the bar. "Tom?"

An old bald man appeared suddenly from out of nowhere, hunched over and squinting in the dim light. "Why, Mrs. Rastrick. It's a–" He paused momentarily. "Pleasure, to see you again. It's been a while."

"Indeed. I am inquiring about a case of Friedrich's Firewhiskey that Xavier was supposed to be receiving from a friend in Germany? He said it was to be delivered here," Rohesia said.

"Yes, yes, let me see. I believe a case did arrive the other night." Tom pulled a small dusty notebook from his apron. "Here it is, Friedrich's Firewhiskey for Xavier Rastrick. Paid in full. You'd like to pick it up, then? Perhaps later, after you've brought your daughter through the Alley and gotten all her supplies?"

Daughter? We looked nothing alike! Rohesia was far too tall to be my mother, possessing fair features and pink-hued skin, unlike myself (and her brothers) in every way.

Rohesia nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, that will do. Come along, dear."

I stayed put. "Excuse me, sir?" Tom's eyes drifted down to me. "I'm not her daughter."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, miss. I suppose you don't look much like Mrs. Rastrick. What's your name then?" He spoke with genuine apology and interest.

"Dalaria, or Dally for short. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tom," I said, extending my hand. He accepted and smiled.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Dally. Good luck with your shopping. And good day, Mrs. Rastrick."

As we left the bar room and exited the back door, I heard murmurs from the cloaked figures sitting on the barstools.

_Was that Rohesia Rastrick? Dally? Who's that? Lestrange. Dally Lestrange. Got sent off to Ireland with her aunt and uncle after her parents got locked up. Poor child. Poor child? 10 Galleons she'll be just like her parents. Lestranges are all bad news. Strange eyes, that one, just like her mum._

Please forget me.

* * *

The first place we went was Gringott's. While Rohesia went down to the Rastrick vault, I had a rather nice conversation with Foskall, an Irish goblin who had heard my accent. He had forged magical protection systems for large wizarding estates in Ireland before transferring to Gringott's, where he was the Chief Goblin of Security, a rather prestigious job, if he did say so himself.

Rohesia returned shortly with a large pouch of coins. Following a brief farewell to Foskall, I took out my list of school supplies. We walked along slowly, with Rohesia asking questions about where I would need to go, while I had my eyes glued to the paper.

It wasn't particularly busy, which was surprising. I wasn't really watching where we were going, and when we stopped abruptly, I almost toppled over into the fountain that we stood at.

It wasn't big, a bit off the main alley. There were only two other people there, an elderly woman and a boy about my age, round of face and body. Water trickled down to a circular pool from the top of a large sculpture; a sculpture of my mother.

"Rohesia," I asked, shocked. "What is this? Why is there a statue of _her_ here?"

"This is a memorial to those who died in the Wizarding War. The names of everyone who died, or anyone that was injured for life, are on here. Muggles and wizards."

I look at the walls of the pool and saw that names did indeed cover almost every inch of the dark granite. _Fabian Prewett. Gideon Prewett. Edgar Bones. Marlene McKinnon. James Potter. Lily Potter. Frank Longbottom. Alice Longbottom_. And hundreds more I didn't know.

"You see Bellatrix?" Rohesia asked softly, staring at the fountain with mournful eyes. I nodded. "I'd imagine many do." She stopped, as if that explained everything.

"I don't understand."

"It's similar to how Boggarts work. This fountain, it's designed to show you whatever scares you most about the Wizarding War. To remind us never to let it happen again." She added softly: "Not many people like to visit it. It's too depressing." I nodded in agreement. I wondered what she saw, and what the other people there saw. But I was too polite to ask.

"Can we be going now? I'd really like to get all my supplies before it gets too late," I said after a few minutes of silence. The elderly woman and young boy had left.

Rohesia had been staring in a sort of trance at the statue. I had looked away a while ago. "Um, yes, of course, of course. Let's be going, then." She grabbed my hand and pulled me around to the entrance of the little alcove that the fountain stood in.

The entrance was being blocked by a rather large man. He had wild hair matching his untamed eyes. "Rohesia! Long time, no see, love." Rohesia looked rather taken aback, and stopped short. I crashed into her, and, intimidated by the large man's presence, took a few steps back. He nodded at me. "Bella's daughter?" Rohesia nodded and tucked me in behind her. "Time sure passes, eh?" The man grinned, showing crooked, yellowing teeth. "How about a drink? Some of us are at the old bar in Knockturn."

"I really don't think so, Dally should be getting her school supplies. Come on dear." She steered me around the man, who, with fast reflexes and a tight grip, grabbed her arm.

"Why rush? She can find her way around, we have some catching up to do." He said it like it wasn't up for debate. "I believe you owe me a drink or two." Rohesia glared at this man with a glare I would never of thought her capable of.

"Dalaria, go. I'll meet you back at the Leaky Cauldron in an hour," Rohesia said, not breaking eye contact with the man who gripped her arm.

"Better make it two, little one."

I needed no more suggestion, and – taking the satchel of Galleons Rohesia held out to me – ran.

* * *

As I wandered alone along the crooked alley, I felt eyes following me; they watched my ebony hair tucked up in a messy bun, my pale complexion, my slow, calculated gait. And when they met my eyes, they would shrink in fear upon realizing to whom I bore a striking and unmistakable resemblance. However, they were all too polite to comment, and just stared with a mix of pity and hatred, a rather unpleasant look. None of this bothered me much, though; I was used to that look.

Instead, I happily went along to buy my books at Flourish and Blott's, robes at Madam Malkin's, a cauldron at Potage's, and a telescope at Wiseacre's, arranging at each to have my things sent to the Malfoy's later that evening. My headache worsened as the day went on; I suppose I wasn't used to being around so many people.

A potions kit and wand remained the only items left on my list.

I decided to go to Ollivander's first, and entered the old shop where I was greeted with a sprinkling of dust as I opened the door. Piles of wandboxes reached the ceiling, sat stacked high on any surface, flat or not. There was an aura of some unspeakable wonder possessing terrific power; thousands of wands all together, just waiting for an owner.

"Hello?" I called out. "Mr. Olli—"

An elderly man appeared from behind a particularly tall stack of wands. He had the appearance of a man brilliant and eccentric, obsessed and in love with his craft. Ollivander slowly stepped around the tower of wands and walked towards me, staring curiously. He opened his mouth slightly, like he was going to say something, but he didn't. Not for a few minutes at least. Then, he shook his head and spoke softly:

"You'll forgive me, Miss Lestrange, for staring, but for a brief moment I mistook you for your mother. Yes, very similar indeed. Although, perhaps a bit less impressive in stature?" He chuckled.

"I wish that weren't the only thing that was different between my mum and I." It kind of fell out of my mouth, and I regretted saying it out loud to a complete stranger immediately.

Ollivander nodded in understanding and smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure you'll find that the moke may indeed wander far from the nest."

A variation on the traditional idiom: a moke _doesn't_ wander far from the nest. I hoped that Ollivander's version was true.

"You're here for a wand, I'd presume, not just some reassurance?" Ollivander said. I nodded. "Very well, then. Let's begin."

He paced around his shop quickly, with determination, picking out boxes without even looking at them. He returned with four wands.

"Try this one to start. Ten inches, ebony, dragon heartstring."

I knocked over a chair.

"Eleven inches, walnut, unicorn hair."

I blew up a window, a shard of glass cutting my arm.

"Nine-and-a-half inches, willow, phoenix feather."

Better; I fixed my arm, but still felled a wandcase.

"How about this one? Nine inches, walnut, dragon heartstring."

I shook my head. "I'm not trying that one. It's like me: exactly like my mother only 'less impressive in stature.'"

Ollivander conceded understandingly. "Very well. Hmm." He walked up and down the aisles, mumbling things to himself.

 _Intelligent for sure. Troubled, certainly, but destined for wonderful things. A healing affinity perhaps? Insecurities unfounded. Independant, strong. Very peculiar child, indeed. Yes, a_ very _peculiar child, in need of a peculiar wand…_

He stopped and suddenly darted to the back of his shop, climbed up a ladder, reached to the very back of a top shelf and pulled out a single box. Beckoning me to join him, he opened the box carefully. Not saying a word, he gestured for me to take the wand.

It was shorter than the others, rich brown; simple, yet elegant. The second my fingers touched it, I knew this was the one. It balanced perfectly, curving with the small shape of my left hand. It was light yet sturdy, flexible yet strong. I could feel a current of magic flowing freely from my arm to the wand. With a soft tap, a pale green glow emerged from the wand tip, illuminating the shop.

"It's perfect," I said.

"Yes, indeed," Ollivander agreed. "It's a very interesting wand. Eight inches, acacia wood, bare-fronted hoodwink feather core, extremely pliable." He motioned for me to sit.

I looked around and seeing nowhere to sit, remained standing.

Ollivander continued, speaking thoughtfully. "I've never made a wand like it before. It's most unusual. Eight inches is rather short for a wand, and most this length aren't particularly powerful, but this is the exception. Acacia wood is uncommon. It is for more… subtle witches and wizards, those who don't perform big, extravagent spells. Acacia wands will work best for their original owners, and are very tempermental and difficult for others. I only have three acacia wands besides this; they are very picky, and even if they choose you, they might not reveal the full extent of their powers except for those witches and wizards who are truly exceptional." He gave me a knowing look, meeting my dark eyes with his, pale and bright. "As for the core, this is the only wand I've ever made with the feather of a Bare-fronted Hoodwink. It's an odd bird that muggles _know_ of, but have never really seen. In fact, they're quite sure the birds are hoaxes. They're solitary creatures, and can be most unpleasant. That I learned the difficult way. However, if you treat them kindly and with respect, they'll gladly give up a feather for a special wand. They have healing powers, you know?" Ollivander paused and stared at the wand that still rested in my hand. The scar on my arm from my failed attempt with the previous wand was almost completely gone.

"You obviously have an affinity for healing. Yes, this wand is certainly _you_. Peculiar, underestimated, and insecure, yet fiercely independent, intelligent, and powerful."

I was unsure of that comment's nature: a compliment, or inadvertant insult, or both?

Without another word, he walked back to his desk. I paid the seven galleons and gingerly stuck my wand in the loose pile of hair at the back of my head.

"Your mother always carried her wand like that too," Ollivander said softly. "Don't be afraid to share some things with her. She was a powerful witch, and I have a feeling you'll be a lot like her. How you choose to use your power, though, that is up to you."

I resisted the sudden urge to remove my new wand, and said simply: "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander."

"Of course, Miss Lestrange. Good luck at Hogwarts."

I exited the tiny shop with a small smile, feeling magic flowing through all of me, filling me with a wonder I had never known before.

* * *

The last thing on my list was a potions kit, which I would find at the Apothecary. The Apothecary was empty but for the cashier, a hunched, elderly witch who smelled just as bad as the shop itself, but seemed friendly.

"Hello," I said as I entered. The witch smiled pleasantly. "I'm looking for a potions kit?"

She nodded. "'Course, dear. Let Tilla show you."

She led to the back of the shop, past bottles of various creatures and plants and who knows what else. The shadows cast by the jars, containing specimens of every colour imaginable, created a brilliantly vibrant spectrum in the shadows; it was an odd effect when paired with the musty stench.

"Here you are dear, the kits." She gestured to a large shelf. "Got your standard kit – should get you through years one, two, three and four potions – then kits for O.W.L. and N.E.W.T., and even some for higher up levels, 'though not many buy those. You'll be needin' the standard, dear? You can personaliz'it, too. Go 'head, pick out a few things that jump out to you. Whatever you like, dear, added to the standard kit for 3 knuts each, no matter what it." I began reading vial labels and specimen properties as she continued: "Tilla figured you'd be first year. Too short to be much older. Oooh, look! You've got your wand! Cute how you got it tucked up like that! Your pref'rence, 'course, but most don't like displayin' their wands, you know, they get worried about it gettin' stolen. But if you're trustin' like that or have nowhere else to put it, Tilla s'poses that's good as any place. Then again, there's some who show off their wand like that, show off a bit of power, you follow? In fact, there was one witch, you'd be too young to know her, she always wore her wand like that and—"

There it was. The realization in her eyes, meeting mine with shock and fear and hatred and—

"You're a Lestrange."

I nodded cautiously, unsure what to expect. I opened my mouth to speak, but Tilla made her voice heard first.

"Tilla 'spects, little one, that we'll be getting to know each other real well," said she, grinning with intrigue, showing off crooked teeth. "The Lestranges always come to visit Tilla. Always lookin', always askin'. But Tilla never gives, never tells." She paused, staring at me deeply with slightly wild eyes. "You dunno 'bout the Lestranges, yet, d'you?"

I shook my head, my brow furrowing. Once again, she silenced me before I could utter a word.

"I won't be tellin' you, no, no, you'll learn. You'll be back in a few years, askin', lookin'. And Tilla's thinkin', yes, yes, yes she is, that she might be able to give you what you're lookin' for."

She walked back to the front of her shop, leaving me bewildered, holding a container filled with lionfish spine and essence of belladonna and bezoars and who knows what else.

"What?" I asked, dropping my usual polite demeanour. "What are you talking about? What am I looking for?"

I paced over to the counter, placing my new kit down. Tilla smiled brightly.

"Now how would Tilla know? You're the one lookin' for it!" She laughed. I, for one, was not amused. She didn't seem to take notice though, and proceeded to tally up the few extra ingredients I had selected to add to my standard kit. "Hmm, very interesting. Condensed bezoars, maple sap, Irish Snapping Beetles, phoenix tears, sphinx fur, and ooh! Hoodwink talons! Very interesting!" She glanced up at me curiously. "Tell Tilla, what drew you to these ingredients?"

I was still confused by her comments from not thirty seconds prior, but answered shakily, knowing my reasons were not that good. "Well, the bezoars are used in lots of stuff but they don't taste very good, and when they're condensed, you don't use as many and so potion'll taste better. I know that because I got food poisoning once by accident – a house elf spilled some Gnome Poison into dinner – and Rohesia gave me a bezoar to stop the poison, and I almost threw up from the flavour." My face wrinkled remembering. "The maple sap, well that's because my friend Benji went to Canada once and came back with maple syrup and it was really good, so it reminded me of that. We used to play with Irish Snapping Beetles like this, but he only saw they as regular, though aggressive, beetles. He's a muggle, see," I said shyly. Tilla nodded, encouraging me to go on. "Phoenix tears, well, to get a bottle of those for 3 knuts is a really good price. And sphinx fur isn't very common, but it's got lots of good properties. And, as for the talons," I pulled out my wand, saying: "My wand core is hoodwink feather, so I guess I was just thinking about it."

Tilla nodded approvingly. "Yes, yes, Tilla's thinkin' you'll be back real of'en. A natural at potions,Tilla'd think." Abruptly changing the subject, she added: "That'll be 19 sickles for the kit and 30 knuts for the other, so make it 20 sickles and 1 knut. You know what, keep the knut, dear." She smiled and handed be a small bag. "Have a lovely day."

I took the bag and thanked Tilla, leaving the shop utterly and completely confused.

* * *

I walked up and down Diagon Alley a few times. It was getting darker, now almost three hours since I had left Rohesia, and still, she was nowhere to be found. She wasn't my favourite person in the world, but I couldn't imagine being stuck with that man for three hours. The shops were closing up, and the restaurants were starting to get busy. I decided to muster up the courage to go looking for Rohesia in Knockturn Alley.

I had been there a few times in the past, and it had never left me feeling quite right. There was something dark about the place. Not many dark wizards could be found there anymore, but in the air, remnants of past evils hang thickly. When you leave the Knockturn Alley, a sense of dread and fear and darkness fills you, and you get a sudden desire to break all rules.

But still, I had to find Rohesia. Cautiously, I walked through the narrow entrance and down the winding path, which grew darker with each step (in terms of both light and metaphor). Eyes followed me. I wasn't sure that they were human eyes; in all likelihood, they were not. But I knew I was being watched, stalked, pondered. I could hear them, the voices coming from all directions, soft and mumbling.

_Dangerous place for a child… pretty little thing… looks like Madam Lestrange… couldn't be… could it… yes, yes, yes… her eyes… her eyes… her eyes…_

My headache grew, and I felt paranoid, looking over my shoulder, sure that any second one of them would step out of their shadowy solitude, ready to pounce, attack, or –

"Excuse me, could you tell me how to get back to the main alley?" A soft voice behind me inquired. "I've gotten a bit turned around."

I faced the voice and found a girl, taller than me though about my age, with bushy hair and large front teeth.

She continued: "It's my first time here, you see, and all these people here are a bit, well, a bit intimidating. My name's Hermione, by the way." She stuck out her hand. "Hermione Granger."

I cautiously shook her hand. "Dalaria Lestrange. Most call me 'Dally.'"

"Dalaria? That's an odd name. Anyways, I expect we must be the same age? I'm eleven, starting at Hogwarts this year." I nodded. This girl, Hermione, seemed mature enough for our age, but her excitedness didn't match the dreary Knockturn Alley. "Well, this is exciting! You're the first of my schoolmates that I've met!"

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Hermione. The main alley is–"

She cut me off.

"What house do you expect to be put in? I obviously haven't read all of _Hogwarts: A History_ yet, though I expect to before school starts, but I know all about the houses. I'd expect to be put in Ravenclaw – I'm quite smart, you know – but I think Gryffindor would be nice. Do you know if blood status has anything to do with it?"

I snorted in my mind. "Well, Slytherin is mostly purebloods. I don't think many muggle-borns or even half-bloods are in there."

Her eyes widened and she nodded. "Well, then, I don't expect I'll be put in there. I'm muggle-born, see, and–"

In an instant, I grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her back to the main alley, away from the prying and judging eyes of Knockturn. "Listen, Hermione," I said. "For the future, avoid Knockturn Alley at all costs. They don't take too well to muggle-borns. Or Gryffindors. Or anyone who isn't a pureblood Slytherin."

Hermione looked taken aback and offended at my comments. "I, uh, okay, but–"

"Don't worry," I reassured. " _I'm_ not like that. My best friend, Benji, he's a muggle!"

Hermione still looked skeptical, but some of the worry escaped her face. "Alright, then. Well, what _were_ you doing there?"

"I was looking for my aunt," I admitted. "She went in there a few hours ago, and we need to be getting back home."

Hermione's brow furrowed, but she apparently deemed my explanation good enough. "Your aunt brought you here? I'm here with my parents. They're dentists, you know, and were quite shocked to hear about all of this. Where are your parents?"

A simple question, one that any eleven year old should be able to answer without shame or anger or sadness. I thought it ironic, a _muggle-born_ asking me about my parents. She had no idea, but I suspected she would learn soon enough.

I had to lie. "They couldn't take time off work to bring me here. I'm staying here in London with family though. Don't expect I'll be back to Ireland until next summer."

She nodded. "You're staying at Hogwarts for Christmas then? I think mum and dad have something planned, but I'm not quite sure. I should be getting back to them, I guess, but I was nice to meet you, Dalaria!" With that and a quick wave, she was off.

No doubt she was intelligent, but skeptical, and a bit pushy, I thought. Relcutantly, I turned back towards Knockturn to continue my search for Rohesia, only to find her leaning against the entrance to Knockturn Alley, a dark circle around her left eye, her arm bleeding profusely.

I wouldn't say I rushed to her aid, but a shot of concern did run through me as I looked her over for other traumatic injuries. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Neither of us moved. She looked down, suddenly finding the cobblestones fascinating.

"Lose a bet?"

With a sigh, her pale blue eyes directed their gaze at me, sadness and anger and desperation very apparent with each pained blink.

I nodded in understanding. This was to be kept between us.

"Who was that girl?"

"Some muggle-born that's starting at Hogwarts." I expected the usual look of disgust on Rohesia'a face, but it didn't come. "Her parents are dentists, you know."

She raised her eyebrows. "I heard. Whatever a 'dentists' may be."

"They take care of your teeth. They make sure you don't need them to be straightened or fixed up or anything. Sort of like healers, but for teeth." I replied.

There was that look of disgust. "How do you know that?"

Another simple question. Yet this one, I had no answer for. How did I know that?

I had to lie."I guess Benji must have told me once." A few minutes of silence passed. "I got my wand," I said, pulling it out, testing its weight in my hand. "Mr. Ollivander said it's unusual. It's pretty short, 8 inches, acacia wood, and barefronted-hoodwink feather core." I gave it a wave, and another, as I said: "He said it's got healing powers." With a third wave, a pale green shot of light illuminated our small corner of the world, and when it touched Rohesia, it enveloped her, making her shriek. All this lasted only a brief instant, and then, it was gone, and the world returned to normal.

Rohesia's arm had stopped bleeding, and the dark ring around her eye had paled back to her normal complexion.

She said nothing, but stared at the spot where a deep laceration had moments before blemished her arm. I was shocked as well, although quite pleased with myself.

 _Thank you_.

It was so quiet, I'm not sure if she actually said it or if it was just a whistle of the breeze against old buildings. Whichever was the case, I didn't waste time to try and make it a warm and fuzzy moment. "We should be going. It's late and the Malfoys–"

"Aunt and Uncle–"

"– the Malfoys are waiting for us."

Rohesia nodded in agreement. "Just one more thing, Dalaria." I raised my eyebrows impatiently. "I, um, _bought_ something for you."

'Bought' being code for 'won in a bet.'

"I think you'll like him. VITO!"

A small owl flew out of the shadows. At first, I thought his colour was being obscured by the darkness, but I realized that he was actually black in colour, with bright, shining eyes. He landed gently on my shoulder; the expected piercing of talons never came.

"His full name is The Godfeather, but he goes by Vito, for short. An American was… _selling…_ him. I guess he's named after some muggle moving thing. He's a black barn owl, a bit smaller than most. The guy didn't want him anymore because he's too gentle, and doesn't get his own food, and doesn't do his job very well. He was using him for – well, that's not really important. The thing is, he's yours now."

Vito nuzzled his beak against my hair.

"If you want him, that is."

I smiled, more to myself than to her, and turned my head to look at Vito. "Of course." I looked back at Rohesia.

"Thank you."

Two simple words. A minute before, she had barely, if at all, been able to say them, and now, they echoed along the street, bouncing off buildings. To me, they seemed to eliminate any auditory evidence of other live existence, and left the two –well, three– of us, completely alone. A feeling normal to me.

I wonder if she ever felt like that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I plan on trying to make the characters created by J.K. Rowling as much in character as I can, but please let me know if they seem too out of character! Off to Hogwarts in the next chapter!


	4. Homeward Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the obvious stuff first: I own nothing that wasn't created by me, myself, or I. Funny how things tend to work out like that, isn't it?
> 
> This chapter took a long time to write; with final exams came a terrible cold and a new job, plus moving back home! It's a bit shorter, but I felt it was a good place to end it. Enjoy!

**Homeward Bound**

* * *

 

_"But all my words come back to me_

_in shades of mediocrity_

_Like emptiness in harmony_

_I need someone to comfort me."_

_\- Homeward Bound_

* * *

On September 1, I woke early. I was the only one up in the entire Malfoy Manor. I don't know how they could ever call it a home. Privilege and hatred were the foundation bricks of the Manor; cowardice and ignorance held them together.

Crawling out of bed, I opened the heavy curtains shrouding the window, allowing the day's first light into my room. Even the natural beauty of the sun didn't seem to brighten the dark effect this Manor had on me.

Today would be hell and heaven. The terror of a new adventure is hard to describe. I believe it was J.R.R. Tolkien who wrote: "It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no telling where you might be swept off to." Danger comes from all adventures, perhaps not a physical but rather and emotional or spiritual danger, but danger nonetheless, and that is what makes life exciting. Maybe I would make a friend, and maybe I would feel at home for once, and maybe I would be allowed a fair say in my own reputation. But children are cruel, and adults often no better. And arriving to the Express with the Malfoy family wasn't going to do much for me.

I packed my trunk and reluctantly changed into my robes. Breakfast was awkward and awful. Lucius and Rohesia didn't say a word to one another, and Narcissa was preoccupied with Draco. Had he packed all his books? And did he have his wand? And would he promise to write everyday? I smirked at him across the table and he glared back, unable to say anything foul in his mother's presence. Then Rohesia turned to me. "Dalaria, dear, I won't have to remind you to be writing often, will I?" Light humour and concern came with each word; none of it genuine, of course.

"I will write as often as you like," I replied.

"Good. Shall we expect to hear from you in a few weeks, then?" Rohesia asked.

I nodded politely then resumed intensely studying the cereal I had barely touched. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.

Soon after breakfast, we were off, with Draco's baggage in a Shrinking Sack, and me left to carry my own. Not that I had much, but it was still a bother. We took the Floo Network from the Manor to King's Cross Station. That brought us to a large dark room, magically expanded, that was from the outside marked as a washroom that always happened to be locked for muggles who wished to enter. Fifteen or twenty fireplaces lined the walls, with witches and wizards arriving seconds apart. To exit, we had to pay a small toll fee of one Galleon, and then we were out, amongst the muggles.

The step out into the brightness brought on a splitting headache, and the bustling crowds of the train station didn't help much. My "family" didn't even notice when I fell back against the wall, grabbing my temples and just waiting from my head to explode. I wouldn't say the pain stopped, but in a few minutes it became more tolerable, and I sped off across the platform to catch up to the others. It was loud, but I heard the fragmented whispers of conversations around me.

_The time… I'm going to be late… between nine and ten… maybe it's a cruel prank… those damn boys will be the death of me… I've read the whole thing… I hope he doesn't lose that toad… why are so many people here dressed in funny clothes…_

I checked around me quickly, then subtly slipped through the wall of platforms 9 and 10, and found myself on a platform even wilder than the muggle one. Kids – my age, older, and younger – ran about the platform, up and down the train, yelling to parents and swinging luggage around rather violently. The train itself was magnificent; shiny and smooth, it looked like an obsidian mirror. I saw Rohesia standing with Draco and his parents a little ways down and headed towards her. Vito hooted softly from his cage at all the other owls we passed.

I reached my destination, and Rohesia gave me a disapproving look. "Where were you? Not speaking with those awful muggles, were you?"

"No, ma'am. Never," I said sincerely. My aunt and the Malfoys were not impressed. "Well, I suppose I'll be off now. I'll write, probably. And I expect I'll be staying at the school for Christmas." I knew Rohesia and Xavier had already made plans to meet with Cyrus in Russia for December.

Narcissa looked offended. "Oh no, dear! Why, of course you're coming to our home for Christmas with Draco! We're family after all!" Draco and Lucius looked shocked, and so, more out of spite than anything else, I graciously accepted the offer.

"And little Vito is welcome too, of course!"

I nodded in appreciation, then turned back again to Rohesia. "Well, I'll see you in June I guess. Have a fantastic year."

"You as well, dear," Rohesia replied stiffly. As I turned to board the train, she said in a whisper so quiet I don't think anyone but I heard her: " _Be safe, Dalaria."_ I turned back, but her face revealed nothing. I smiled briefly, and stepped onto the train.

Growing up in a remote area in farmland Ireland, literally isolated from the rest of country, and having only a single friend was, unsurprisingly, not good preparation for the social challenges of school and peers. The awkwardness and discomfort in finding a suitable compartment came from a series of problems.

The first was finding students that looked young enough to be first year. Older kids, even the twelve-year olds, were somehow more intimidating than Xavier in his most drunken state.

The second was the kids who were obvious Slytherins. Because, really, who wants to sit with Slytherins?

Finally, kids can be cruel. It seemed that just a few minutes into the school year, small cliques had formed. Bags were placed on seats to indicate that no room was available. Stares and comments and an unsettling feeling that I was not welcome followed me to every compartment I passed.

I passed Hermione Granger, who was in a group of little girls wearing pink and glitter and giggling. She looked uncomfortable, and waved at me. I waved back, but continued on, looking for a quieter room. I passed a boy who had apparently set a piece of paper on fire, with him was the small round boy from the fountain who was stroking a small toad. A set of twins took up both of the next two compartments, one with mops of red hair conspiring with mischievous grins, the other about my age in a deep conversation. I walked past easily 100 hundred compartments, and I wondered how many of them hated my family, my name, me. I wondered where Harry Potter was, and what Neville Longbottom looked like, and when Hermione Granger would realize that my family would take pleasure in her death.

Morbid thoughts, I know. But I thought I would be heading towards home. I had never really had a home before. A house, a refuge, an escape, those things I had had. Hogwarts was supposed to be home, and so far, it felt like the loneliest place on Earth.

My headache had worsened, and everything was louder. I don't know how long we had been travelling for, but it seemed everyone was talking, and I could hear every word through the glass doors separating me from the rest of the youthful wizarding world. No one else seemed bothered by the deafening noise.

I reached the front car of the train and had nearly decided to spend the rest of the trip aimlessly wandering the hallway while looking purposeful, when I passed compartment and felt a tug inside of me. A sense of familiarity and warmth, an aura of friendship and love and home and everything good in the world.

Benji.

I stopped in front of the compartment, staring but not believing, feeling but not experiencing the surroundings.

_Benji._

He looked up, and when his eyes met mine, I felt safe and comfortable and completely isolated from the exterior world. In an instant, he was up and we were hugging and muttering exclamations of shock and surprise.

"You're here," he said as we broke apart from an uncomfortably long hug. It wasn't a question, and I didn't notice any surprise in the comment. A puzzled look came across his face suddenly. "So, you're… your parents are… I'm a, a muggle. I think that's the word they said?"

I nodded. "Yep, that's the word. It doesn't really mean anything." I looked down, suddenly realizing that one day very soon Benji would know the truth about my family's beliefs. "My parents are wizards. So are Rohesia and Xavier. I knew I would be coming to Hogwarts this year ever since I was little. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I couldn't, but I really wanted to."

He nodded in understanding. "And your mum and dad? Why aren't you with them?"

My heart dropped. I had to tell him, and it would be best coming from me, but still, a sting of pain came with each quickening heartbeat. My discomfort must have been revealed on my face, because Benji quickly retracted his question. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that."

I shook my head, and took his hand, sitting down on the bench in the compartment. "Yes, I do. I want you to hear this from me." And so I told him. Everything.

* * *

His hand tensed in mine as I spoke of blood purity. His faced contorted with anger while I relayed him the Dark Lord's manifesto. His heart beat erratically as he listened to the things that my parents had done. I told him about the violence, the murders, the rape, the torture, and the complete destruction that occurred at their hands in the years leading up to my birth, and finally of the brutal fate of the Longbottoms that brought them to their current home in Azkaban. He shuddered at hearing of the fate of Harry Potter's parents, and tilted his head in concern as I told him about the Rastricks. I spoke of their hatred for his blood; their disgust for our friendship. He smiled as I told him that I was quite the little rebel.

As I spoke, his eyes, the stars that shone out in the darkness of the world, dulled with each word, growing darker and wider with fear and anger and hurt. Those eyes conveyed his thoughts and feelings to me. He was scared; scared of what the wizarding world would be like for a muggle; scared of the Slytherins, of the Ratstricks, of my parents; scared of me, even. He was angry, not at me, but at the suffering that had gone on and on in the name of purity. The powers and wonders and evils of magic began to dawn on him, and I could tell that a strong sense of doubt began to cloud his excitement for this new life.

But he wasn't mad at me. Because he's Benji, and I'm Dally, and other than a few new revelations (albeit rather ground-breaking revelations) nothing had changed. And being his usual self, he knew it was hard for me to tell him these things. He understood that I didn't want to be interrogated, that what I told him was either all I knew or all I could tell him. He wouldn't push, he wouldn't judge. His skepticism could not be hidden, though, as I told him that this was a new world where muggle-born witches and wizards were accepted by most of the wizarding community. I didn't want to taint magic before him before he had had his first taste of it, though, so I told him about all of the wonderful things of the world.

His temporarily darkened eyes and mind began to glow like their usual animated selves as I quietly listed my favourite things about a world with magic. Chocolate frogs and butter beer, the jolly juniper, house elves, shifting staircases and moving paintings, spells and potions that could heal and love potions and pygmy puffs, Quidditch, riddles, ghosts, Bertie Botts' Every Flavoured Beans, refilling goblets and ever-lasting fires, unicorns, expanding cabinets, tickling spells, and enchanted ceilings. I told him everything wonderful about life and I felt the aura of the compartment shift away from the darkness of the world.

And then my cousin showed up.

The epitome of prejudice and smugness, he wore an unpleasant, cruel smile. His icy stare demanded attention; cold, calculating eyes squinting, hiding in disgust at the sight of a muggle and a pureblood together.

He was flanked by his lummox friends, Gregory and Vincent, whom I had met once or twice while visiting my lovely cousin in my younger days. Together, they were easily four times larger than Draco, though I had no doubt that Draco made up for his small size by cunning and cleverness. The gorillas stood outside the compartment, while Draco stepped inside, taking strides far too long for his short legs. Instantly, the compartment began to shrink and a dark cloud of negativity prevented any clear thought.

Apparently, I was the only one alarmed by the sudden change, as Benji stood calmly and outstretched his hand. "How'r you? I'm Benji, Benji Hudson. This is Dally. You first year?"

Draco met eyes with Benji and said nothing for a few seconds, then turned to me. He spoke eerily like his father, a slow, whining drawl: "Hello, Dalaria. I hope your trip has been well." He paused and smirked. "Mother and our Aunt told me to keep you out of trouble this year, and that means not fraternizing with his type." He gestured to Benji, but kept his eyes on me.

"You know him, Dally?" Benji asked warily.

I was a bit lightheaded, but I stood up and nodded. "Benji, this is Draco, Draco Malfoy. We're cousins." I pointed to the pillars of bones and muscle that guarded our door. "And that's Gregory and that's Vincent. Draco likes to be big and scary but he's not so big, so he had do something about that so he became a monkey trainer." Benji stifled a laugh.

Draco was not impressed. His bloodless face did not change, but his cold eyes turned away from me, to Benji. "Listen to me, Hudson. Dalaria will not be spending any time with you this year. I suggest you leave now." _Mudblood._ He didn't say it, but he didn't have to. The contempt and disgust and hatred was there; living in a house full of it, I knew the look.

I knew the voice, too; it was Lucius'. Not just the tone, but the words, intricately laced together that yearned for power and fear. Draco hadn't mastered his syntax yet, as his attempt at intimidation didn't throw Benji off in the slightest. Though it seems rather oxymoronic, evil must be poetic in its word choice.

Suddenly, a quote came to mind. "It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences," I said, more to myself than anyone. Where had I read that before?

Both Draco and Benji looked at me: Draco irritated and Benji quite pleased.

"Mr. Malfoy, was it? I think I'll be askin' you to leave now, if you do please," Benji said, tilting his head slightly. Here, the sweetest boy in the world, was apparently master of intimidation feigned as politeness, as Draco backed away cautiously, temporarily giving up his superior expression for a countenance painted in fright.

His sneer quickly returned, and as he back-pedalled through the compartment door, he spat: "Fine. But you won't be so happy with her once we're all sorted. Watch your back, Hudson."

 _Mudblood_.

The word was on the tip of his tongue, bit he didn't say it. With one final glare, he left.

I collapsed into the seat. Vito hooted softly from his cage. Benji looked down, noticing him for the first time. "That's Vito," I said, closing my eyes. "His full name's 'The Godfeather.' Rohesia won him in a bet."

"Ah."

Silence.

Loud silence. Neither of us spoke, but the noise inside my head was amplified until I thought my eardrum would burst.

Benji was, once again, my relief. "What did he mean by 'sorted?'" He asked.

I opened my eyes, which quickly met his. The storm that was my mind immediately was eased. "Well, in Hogwarts there are different houses. That's where you stay and the people you take your classes with and eat with. I think they're pretty easy about the eating, at least later on in the year, but I'm not really sure. So there were four founders of Hogwarts, and they got their own house. The sorting happens tonight, and each of us first years will get put into a house. I guess there's a hat or something? I don't really know how it works. But it has to do with what you're like." I took a breath. "So the founders were Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Helga Hufflepuff. The Slytherin house – they're green and silver, and they're animal is a snake. That tells you all you need to know about the house!" I laughed. "I guess they're not all bad, but an unusual amount of dark wizards came out of there."

"Your parents?" Benji asked suddenly.

"Yeah. And Rohesia and Xavier and Cyrus and Draco, Gregory and Vincent's parents and the Dark Lord. I don't know that there's ever been a muggle-born in there. Slytherins are supposed to be cunning and powerful leaders, and able to get whatever they want, which I guess can be good things. But in general, I would stay away from Slytherins," I concluded.

"Will Malfoy be in Slytherin?" Benji asked, and I quickly affirmed his query. "And what about you? Since your family is in there, will you be too?"

I shrugged. "I hope not. I think I'm a bit too… dark… to be in Hufflepuff, and I think I'd do well in Ravenclaw, but I want Gryffindor, more out of spite that anything!" Sensing Benji's confusion, I began my explanation. "You see, Gryffindors are the red and gold lions, They're noble and brave and believe in justice and fight for the right things. They're sort of the inevitable enemies of Slytherins. I want to be there out of spite."

Benji laughed and said: "I don't know, that seems like a pretty Slytherin reason!"

I took off my shoe and threw it at him. He threw it back. This continued for a few minutes, laughing hysterically with soles and laces flying everywhere, until we were both in socks with only three shoes in sight. Having both of mine, I declined Benji's offer to assist him in the search for his other shoe. Instead, I continued speaking.

"So next is Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw's pretty cool. They're smart and witty and clever. Not necessarily book smart, but I think Ravenclaws are usually at the top of the class. I'd have lots of time to read if I were there, though some of the bookish types can be a bit snobbish. I'm smart, for sure I am – I remember everything I read! But I guess I'm a bit…"

"Odd? Weird? Different? Crazy? Brooding? Quirky? Too smart for your own good?" Benji smiled. "Take your pick."

"Thanks," I said, my sarcasm level well surpassing his. "So Ravenclaw would be okay for me. Oh, and their colours are blue and bronze and they have an eagle. You'd think it would be a raven, right? And the last one is Hufflepuff. Some people say that Hufflepuffs are sort of, well, miscellaneous? Or, like, the nice ones? The ones that don't stand up for themselves? I don't know about that, though. I think being nice is good, and they're not confrontational, and they're very loyal and supposed to be pretty good athletes. They're yellow and black, and they're animal is… is… oh yeah! It's the badger." I paused and grinned. "You're totally a Hufflepuff."

"Yeah?" He thought for a minute. "I can see that." Pause. "You'd be good in Gryffindor. You're brave, and you'd look good with red and gold."I raised my eyebrows and he continued. "Yeah! Blue would be too dark, yellow too bright, and green wouldn't be… right. It'd make you look sick or something. But red would give the impression of you having blood in you. Come on, you know you're whiter than snow. I swear, if it weren't for your hair and eyes I'd think you were albino! Oh, but you can't be a lion. You're allergic to cats." I laughed. He smiled, at first in amusement, but then it became warmer, more sensitive. "You know, if you are put in Slytherin – only if, on the slightest chance – I'll still be friends with you. I think that's what your lovely cousin was getting at. Once you were in Slytherin we wouldn't be friends because I'm muggle and you're not. But I'll never stop being friends with you, Dalaria Leigh Galena Lestrange."

I reached across the compartment and took his hand. Vito hooted softly. "Nor will I, Benjamin Spicer Hudson the Third."

Welcome home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences." - Audre Lorde, "Our Dead Behind Us: Poems"


	5. The Lion's Roar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! So the last chapter was a bit shorter but this one should make up for that so be warned! Anything I haven't created belongs to J.K. Rowling unless I specify otherwise.
> 
> Enjoy!

**The Lion's Roar**

* * *

 

_"And the lion's roar, the lion's roar_

_Is something that I have heard before_

_A children's tale, the lonesome wail of a lion's roar."_

_\- The Lion’s Roar (First Aid Kit)_

* * *

 

The rest of the train ride consisted of snacks and old wizarding lore. I read Benji a few stories from _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ while we ate treacle tarts and chocolate frogs. The trolley witch came by and informed us with a big, anticipating smile that we were only twenty minutes from our new home. Benji waited outside as I changed into my black robes, and I did the same for him.

I had put my hair up into a loose bun, as that was the only way it would stay and look presentable. I hesitated before sticking my wand into my dark locks, but eventually gave in, as it didn't quite feel right in my pocket.

A few minutes were spent in anticipating silence. A single word would have smashed the fragile unspoken mosaic of excitement and worry, wonder and dread that separated us from the outside world. My nerves suddenly sparked with realization. I had been so worried about the other students, the stares, the hatred, my reputation… that I hadn't even considered the true meaning of this fateful train ride.

Hogwarts. I was going to Hogwarts. I would finally learn magic! I suppose that to a pureblood like me, this should not have been nearly as exciting as it was to muggles like Benji or Hermione Granger. But knowing about magic and knowing magic are two totally different things, and the Rastricks certainly were not helpful in offering any sort of pre-Hogwarts education. I read a lot, though, years before receiving confirmation of my acceptance to Hogwarts. In fact, I began reading when I was only 9 months old, well before I could speak (as skill I acquired late, aged 16 months).

A small library had found its way into my room. Books about everything and anything were stacked everywhere in my room. I learned of anthropomorphic plants, dangerous and life-saving potions, broomstick aerodynamics, ghost and spirit theory, and rare charms. These were displayed in plain view. I had other books that I hid very well, though I suspect Rohesia and Xavier knew about. I read Shakespeare and Dostoyevsky earnestly. Poetry fascinated me, and I was quite fond of Maya Angelou's poems "Alone" and "Phenomenal Woman." Being patriotically Irish, Seamus Heaney was also a favourite. Benji introduced me to a lot of the classic muggle novels. Ellie made him read these from a young age. Now, as we sat in silence in the train compartment, I thought of the evenings we had spent reading _Swiss Family Robinson_ , _Treasure Island_ , and _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea –_ some of my favourites – and others with Benji's favourite characters: Christie's eccentric Poirot with his little grey cells and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's brilliant Detective Holmes.

I loved muggle books. They made a magic-less existence magical. The words, intricately laid down to convey adventure and escape and emotion and symbolic life lessons, would keep me awake for hours after the rest of the Downs was asleep. They brought me away from Rastrick House and to the canals of Venice, or at the ocean's bottom, or stranded on a desert island, building a new home, a new life. I loved the idea of living on a desert island; to be surrounded only by animals and nature, and no people would be lovely. People made my head hurt.

Xavier saw the extensive reading I did as pointless, but Rohesia respected me for it. I think she knew I would miss my books, because the day before we left for London, I walked into my room to find all of my books gone, with a small blue bag on my bed. On it was a note: "Dalaria's Books." Not one was missing.

I had heard about the library at Hogwarts, from Cyrus. The one thing we had in common was the love of reading; I suppose we have have had more in common, but when he was home – which was rarely, even during school breaks – he locked himself in his room. But he told me all about the library at Hogwarts, how it wasn't simply a library. Rather, it was a never-ending expanse of knowledge, lore, mystery, and the unknown. Our conversations about books were the only times I ever saw him happy. I even convinced him to take a few muggle books, although I don't know if he ever read them.

I thought about all the other things that could be found at Hogwarts. I had never met a friendly ghost (the ones that haunted Knockturn Alley were not so nice). There would be paintings of people hundreds of years old. The lake was supposed to be perfectly serene, and I was excited to see a proper Quidditch pitch. I knew about the Whomping Willow (the angrier cousin to the Jolly Juniper species that we had on our property). And the brilliant minds that would sit at the professor's table… I was already in awe of the treasure trove of information and experience that lived in that castle.

And all the students? What was I worrying about? I hadn't needed anybody other than Benji before now, and if I didn't make one friend out of the hundreds of other students, I would be perfectly alright. I enjoyed the solitude, the quiet. Besides, people hurt my head.

There would be a lot of people there, that's for sure. Hundreds of students were on the Hogwart's Express, but at least they were all spread out. Soon, those hundreds of students would all be packed into one room, inescapable. I had never been to a school before, and by preference, I avoided large events. The Quidditch World Cup was to be avoided (except the one unfortunate year when it was held in nearby Belfast and I was forced to attend), and the Hudsons annual invitation to the Collic's Downs community potluck declined. Look at what happened in London and at King's Cross with the headaches. How was I supposed to sleep in small room with four other people, learn in cramped dungeon classrooms with thirty people, or function stuck in an inescapable castle with hundreds, _hundreds_ of other people!

Unsurprisingly, living in isolation had done nothing to prepare me for a world with other people.

I shook my head and realized I had been in deep trance, staring vacantly out the window, sensing nothing but my own existence. Now, pulled from my deep inner world, I saw that we were passing a small town – Hogsmeade, I think? – starting to slow, and I heard the chatter of excited students through the compartment walls. Benji was outside the compartment, hands and face pressed against the hallway windows. I joined him and stared in awe at the sight that met my eyes.

I wouldn't describe the castle as grand and majestic. It's greatness was more subtle. It wasn't shiny new and flashy, it didn't have colourful banners hanging from every balcony, and the stonework was clearly aged. It blended in quite nicely with the natural rock of the bluff it stood on. The surrounding lake and forests were bright accents against the grey. But it demanded your attention; demanded that you admire its natural beauty, its symmetrically perfect architecture. Briefly, we passed through a thicket of trees, and Hogwarts was obscured from our view. The train was going impossibly slow, and then came to a sudden stop just as the castle came back into view across the Black Lake. Though still kilometres away, you could feel the castle. The power and wonder of magic, secrets, and years was palpable. From such a distance, it was impossible to see small details, but I could see stained glass in the windows, and a huge clock above the courtyard, and the golden hoops of the Quidditch pitch in the background.

Neither Benji nor I moved, and it seemed like the rest of the world had stopped. I had no words to describe the effect that the castle had on me. Benji simply whispered: "Wow."

Quickly, we grabbed our luggage – and Vito – from our compartment and made our way to the exit, encased in a throng of fellow students, all complicating each other's exit plans with their own luggage and every one of them taller than me. Have I mentioned that people hurt my head?

"Firs' years!" A deep voice boomed over the loud crowd. "If yer a firs' year, c'mon over 'ere!"

Benji led the way towards the voice, constantly being cut off my older students trying to go in the opposite direction. The few lanterns at the station burned my eyes with their brightness, which was not helping with my headache.

Finally, we made it to where a group of timid and small students stood; clearly our fellow first years. Some were whispering, no doubt looking for Harry Potter, but most people's attention was captivated by the large, hairy man that stood easily six feet above most of us. He said: "Yeh all are firs' years? Anymore of yeh? No? Alrigh' ev'ryone, let's go! Watch yer step!"

And off we went, through a path in the woods. I didn't know where we were going, and I doubt anyone but the giant gentleman did know. In the darkness, young voices whispered excitedly, quietly. I could only pick up words.

_Houses. Hungry. Trevor. Mom. Boats. Lake. Feast. Dad. Slytherin. Purebloods. Mudbloods. Potter. Dark. Harry. Lestrange…_

I couldn't make sense of a lot of the conversation, but it seemed that my classmates knew about Harry Potter, and that at least one of them knew who I was.

By now, we were at the edge of the Black Lake, aptly named. The large man stopped us and gave us instructions: The trip across the lake would take no more than fifteen minutes. No more than four to a boat, hands and arms in the boat at all times, and luggage in the bottom middle section. We didn't have to do anything to steer the boat, and we shouldn't try, unless we wished to get thrown overboard! I guess the little dinghies were a bit sensitive and took offence easily.

Benji and I followed two boys into one of the skiffs, and the four of us took a few minutes to awkwardly arrange Vito and one of the boys cats, who stared hungrily at my feathery friend. We sat at the back, facing forward, while the other two sat opposite us, facing backward.

The one who sat opposite me was tall, taller than Benji, with close-cut light brown hair. His skin was almost as pale as mine. He was slim; not skinny, but not big either. His face was stoic, and I figured that was how it stayed most of the time: neither happy nor sad. His pale green eyes took in every inch of his surroundings, observing, inferring and remembering.

The other had curly blond hair that fell to his chin. He was just as tall as though broader than the other boy. His reddish cheeks, bright blue eyes, and mischievous smile made his the face of Scandinavia. I bet he was an excellent athlete and, based on the thick book he carried in his hand, an intellectual.

Benji was about to say something when the little boat suddenly plunged itself off of shore and into the dark waters. A bit of water splashed into the boat, but everything remained miraculously dry. We were off, on the final leg of our journey to our new home! Our armada of ten or twelve boats were guided by the light of lanterns and a clear half-moon.

Benji restarted his conversation attempt. "Hi! Looks like we'll be classmates! I'm Benji, Benji Hudson." He stuck out his hand to the blond boy who sat across from him.

The larger boy took Benji's hand in his and shook vigourously. "Bo Axelsson! Can't believe I'm really here, you know! My mum told me a little about the place, but of course she's never been. She's not the wizard in the family, my dad was, but Dad's been gone since I was little." He said it honestly, not with sadness, though with his previous smile diminishing slightly. "I'm from Liverpool, by the way." I had inferred as much from his distinct accent.

Benji replied: "My Dad's gone too." He paused briefly, after locking eyes with Bo for a few seconds. "Mum and him are both not-magical, so I guess that makes me a muggle too."

Bo nodded. "Well, for now! But soon we'll all be proper wizards and witches! You must be Irish."

"How'd you know?" Benji laughed. "I'm from Collic's Downs, in Leitrim County. Northern Ireland. This is Dally. She's from there too!"

Suddenly all sets of eyes (including those of the third boy, who had not yet spoken) turned to me. I wouldn't consider myself completely inept in social situations with other people my age, but I am fully aware of my shyness and awkwardness around new people. I felt uncomfortable, but forced myself to speak, stuttering through my oration. "We've been friends for years now. Neighbours too. Nobody else up on Murphy's Crag – that's where we live in the Downs. My friends… well… _he_ calls me Dally. My full name is Dalaria Lestrange." Shaking hands seemed polite, so I extended my arm a little, cautiously.

Bo reached out to take my hand, but the other boy got there first.

His eyes, ever observant and critical, met mine."It's a pleasure, Dally. Theodore Nott." My eyebrows raised and I tilted my head. I'd never met Theodore, but his father was a good friend of Xavier's. Theodore evidently knew the same thing. He knew what I knew, who I was. Our hands, joined, hung between us for an awkwardly long amount of time. I pulled away, and successfully managed to shake hands with Bo.

Benji saw concern on my face, while Bo was oblivious to anything strange happening, and continued conversation with Theodore. "So, Theodore, where are you from? Do people call you Theo?"

Theodore stared at me for a few seconds, then turned to Bo and smiled, genuinely smiled. "Yes, people do call me Theo. Mother and Father and their _friends_ insist on using my full given name, but I hate that. As for where I'm from, I grew up in the outskirts of London, a small wizarding community."

Benji was shocked. "There are wizarding communities?!"

Theo smiled lightly, which I imagined to him was the equivalent of a laugh. "Yeah, we passed one on the way here. Hogsmeade. There are lots of them in Great Britain, and quite a few in Scotland and France. I don't know about Ireland, though."

Benji turned to me, his grey eyes wide with excitement. "Dally! D'you think that maybe that story about the Downs is true? The one that Mum told us in winter? With Murphy and Kelly and Nelson and Collic and–"

A huge splash right next to our boat (which was on the outskirts of our naval procession) cut him off. Screams came from boats further away. None of the four of us flinched.

"Wow!" Exclaimed Bo. "That must have been the squid!"

Theo, Benji and I looked at him quizzically, and he continued. "In _Hogwarts: A History_ there is mention of a giant squid that inhabits the Black Lake. It's been around for a long, long time. Some seventh years brought it in in the mid 1800s as a final year prank and it just sort of stuck around!"

Benji jumped in. "You've read all of _Hogwarts: A History?_ That thing's huge!"

Bo replied sheepishly: "Well, I've actually read most of the required reading for first years. The potions book and DADA book and some extra historical books and–"

"So we've got a Ravenclaw on our hands, have we?" Theo snorted.

"Oh, I expect so. I'm quite intelligent. Book smart, that is. Mum says I've never been on for 'street smart,' whatever that means." Bo grinned. "What houses do you all expect to be in?"

"Well, I dunno a whole lot about the houses," Benji began. "But from what Dally's said, I think I'm a Hufflepuff. But I don't really know. What about you, Theo?"

"Slytherin." He said the word mechanically, without feeling, staring at his reflection in the black water. "My whole family has been in Slytherin." The silent tension between Benji and Theo was palpable. The silence was almost uncomfortable, though I'm never one to knock silence. "Oh, don't worry about me, dear Benji. My family may have some problems with you and your kind, and so will a lot of my fellow housemates, but I'm not all that bad." He looked Benji in the eyes for the first time. "Really. Trust me."

Their eyes remained locked for a few seconds, until Bo once again broke awkward silence. "Well, that was an awkward silence. Admittedly, I don't know much about each house's reputation within the school, just what information I could glean from various books." He sighed and turned to me. "What about you, Dally? What house do you expect you'll be in?"

Ah, the grand question, presented to me for the second time in the day. My answer, obviously, had not changed. "I don't know. I'm a bit, well, dark to be in Hufflepuff, and I'm pretty smart but I'm not really passionate about knowing _things_ , you know? Gryffindor, maybe? I've never really thought of myself as brave, but who knows? And my family is all Slytherin, too, so that might–"

And suddenly everything went black.

Well, that may be a little dramatic. The lanterns were still lit and there was light up ahead, but the moon had suddenly disappeared from above, and Hogwarts was no longer ahead, and looking out to the sides, there was nothing.

"It seems, my friends, that we have entered a tunnel," Theo noted, turning to me. "I suppose that means that you will be figuring out your house dilemma soon enough, Dally."

"Yes, I guess it does."

The remaining few minutes of the trip consisted of Benji and Bo discussing Benji's life as a homeschooled muggle, and while I watched their lips move I didn't hear a word they said. I was too focused on the intense hold that Theo's eyes had on me.

Soon, we reached a little dock in a big cavern. All the other little boats with the other little students were at other little docks, patiently waiting for instructions from the large hairy man. He informed us that our luggage and pets could remain in the boat, and that they would be moved to our dormitories for us. Our instructions were to unload ourselves from the boats, and follow this man to a staircase where we would wait quietly (emphasis on 'quietly') for the Deputy Headmistress. She would provide us with further instructions, and then the Sorting and Feast would occur!

We fifty young, anxious students began to clamber on to the docks. Clearly, many of them had never been on a boat before, as there was much caution and analysis and overall worry. Benji and I knew our way around a boat. We had explored all of the Lake on an old raft that a previous resident of the Downs had built, and the Hudsons had a small dory docked in Purgatory Bay that we would take out on rare occasions when the weather was not too bad.

I was the last to depart the boat; I had noticed that Vito gets agitated when left alone and decided to try some soothing words denoting our temporary departure to calm him. Regardless of my sea-faring adventures, when Theo offered me his arm I thought it only gracious to accept. Benji and Bo had gone ahead, and we were at the last dock. When I had two feet firmly on dock, I nodded to Theo my appreciation of his gentlemanly action and began to step away, but his grip on my hand tightened and he jerked me backwards. I didn't flinch, or struggle, or say a word. I locked eyes with him and gave him my mother's stare.

I don't remember anything before I turned seven, but my mother's eyes are burned into my mind. I don't know from when. I don't know if they are actually her eyes, or just a memory of a painting, or maybe even something I imagined, but I can only picture my mother's stare one way: hungry, despairing, all-knowing. The eyes, a window to the soul: dark, calculating, and deep. A persistent, unbreakable gaze that inspires awe and fear equally, and reminds its recipient of the raw power and brilliant, manipulative, observant mind behind those eyes. That is what it is like when Bellatrix Lestrange stares at you. For though she may be the poster child of lunacy, genius often comes at the price of insanity.

I think this stare is a genetic inheritance of mine. Or perhaps, my mother and I are very similar. Whatever it may be, Theo's face changed significantly for the first time that night from that of an emotionless observer to that of a scared little boy, caught up in more than he expected.

He let go of my arm and took a step back. I lightened my gaze, and he regained his composure. "We need to talk, Dalaria." He took a breath. "You won't be a Slytherin, so that might be hard. But we need to talk."

He strode away quickly, leaving me confused, staring back into the empty tunnel that had brought us into, or rather under, the castle. Then it hit me: this was home.

* * *

The next few minutes were a blur. We followed the large man through dimly lit corridors and went up and down and finally up again, until we came to a large door which I think could only have been opened by such a large man. Up another staircase, but this time, we were in the castle. The stonework was more carefully laid, the stairs lit by many lanterns, and Renaissance paintings with old witches and wizards gawking at us new students graced the walls. But we did not have to go up far on this staircase before we found ourselves in front of a grand set of doors, these an appropriate size for regular-sized humans to open.

"Jus' wait here a few mins', alrigh'?" The large man said, before heading off who knows where.

So we waited, me in silence sticking close to Benji and Bo. Other students murmured among themselves, and the group was practically buzzing with excitement. I scanned for Harry Potter, but did not see him. Then again, I don't know exactly who I was looking for; I had no idea what he looked like, and I don't suppose there would be a large sign above his head. Theo had been approached by Draco, Vincent and Gregory, and was unsuccessfully trying to blow off my cousin. Finally, the wooden doors opened and a tall witch stood in front of us. Her eyes and nose made me think of a hawk; she had a few wrinkles, and wore a bun tightly drawn back. Despite this harsh initial appearance, I had the impression that she was far more easy-going.

"Alright, everyone. I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress. I expect we'll get to know each other well this year," she said, not in a particularly friendly tone. "But now, we have a feast to get to. You are currently in the Entrance Hall. Behind these doors is the Great Hall. You're going to follow me in and then gather up at the front. Line up, now, in pairs." She began to herd us like sheep. "Yes, yes, come on now. Straight lines, please." Her hawkish eyes inspected us carefully, and apparently approved of our formation.

I was lined up beside Benji, behind a bushy head of hair that could only have belonged to Hermione Granger, who stood beside a small round boy that I did not know. Bo stood tall behind us with a girl with pigtails. I glanced around as we began to move. Draco was up ahead with a skinny, black-haired girl, while Theo was almost at the back with a giggly girl who would not stop bothering him. It appeared there was a set of twins in front of Hermione, and it was obvious from their huge, sluggish forms that Gregory and Vincent were walking together.

Professor McGonagall brandished her wand and muttered an incantation. The oak doors swung open – rather violently, I thought – and we saw what lay behind the doors.

Long tables, flanked on both sides by hundreds of seated students, covered most of the space in the large room. 'Room' is the understatement of the century. It was more like a cathedral, with high arches, intricate carvings in the walls, detailed stained glass, and… no ceiling? Up above, I only saw the night sky. The hall was lit by floating candles. Gold accents and brown woodwork stood out against the grey stones.

 _"_ It's beautiful," Benji whispered. I couldn't imagine what he must have been experiencing; if I was so in awe after growing up with magic, how must he feel?

The tables were clearly for each of the houses; we walked past the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, before stopping between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, in front of another large table that was clearly for professors. Hundreds of eyes were on us, and I felt very uncomfortable. My headache, which had been reduced to a dull throb by the calm of the Black Lake, was steadily intensifying in my temples. To combat this, I chose to study the stained glass, though from here I could only make out vague colourful forms. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall placed a plain stool on a little platform in front of the head table, on top of which was a beaten up, ripped, and all-around ugly hat.

The hat sang.

Apparently this was not uncommon, because only the first years seemed shocked. Even Theo seemed pleasantly surprised. Benji was in heaven; this was everything of his dreams, and he only hoped that he would never wake up. The hat sang of its superiority to other forms of headwear and of the qualities of the houses. All we had to do to learn our houses was put on this literal thinking cap.

Once the hat was done everyone clapped and cheered, though it seemed to me that its vocal abilities were not of superb stardom quality. Professor McGonagall took to the platform and confirmed what the hat had sang.

The Sorting began.

"Abbott, Hannah." This was the pig-tailed girl who walked with Bo. She was assigned to Hufflepuff. All of Hufflepuff cheered as she joined their table.

"Axelsson, Bo."

Bo was, as he had expected, promptly designated as a Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw clapped. It went on like this. Professor McGonagall called a name, the hat screamed out a house, and the respective house cheered. Repeat.

Bones, Susan, and Boot, Terry, were sorted next into Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively. The first Gryffindor was Brown, Lavender. The noise was deafening. My headache reached what I thought was its climax. Millicent Bulstrode was called up next and became the very first Slytherin. At the roar of the crowd that came, I clutched my head as a ball of fire exploded behind my eyes. I focused on the stained glass again to try and put out the fire. My vision blurred and sound was blocked out. As a consequence, I missed most of the next students sorted, though I vaguely heard Vincent and Gregory be called up, and the distinctly Irish name Seamus Finnigan, who I think was put into Gryffindor.

I came to full awareness just as Hermione Granger was called up. Surprisingly, the hat called out: "GRYFFINDOR!" I would have pegged her as a Ravenclaw.

Benji, meanwhile, had noticed my distress and grabbed my hand. "Dally! Dally! Are you alright? Dally, look at me!" He persisted in a quiet whisper, so as not to draw attention to the situation. His brow was furrowed in concern, and his usually bright eyes were darkened. Theo was watching from across the group of cheering first years.

My head now felt rather refreshed. I had no pain anymore. I blinked a few times to make sure, and turned to him and said: "Yes, Benji, I'm alright now." I smiled. "Thank you." He smiled back and squeezed my hand.

This nice moment was cut short when Professor McGonagall called out: "Hudson, Benjamin."

A rush of excitement ran through him; I could feel it in his fingertips. He bounced a little bit and breathed deeply, like a runner preparing for a big race, raised his eyebrows and grinned widely. He then calmly walked up to the stool and sat, while the hawkish woman placed the dilapidated hat on his head.

I watched Benji's face closely and saw his eyes roll back so as to watch the hat. His mouth hung open slightly in awe. A few anticipating seconds passed before the hat exclaimed loudly: "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hufflepuff cheered loudly and as Benji stood up, he looked at me with a huge, crazy grin. He sat at his new house table and began eagerly chatting with fellow housemates Hannah, Susan, and some older students.

The H's, I's and J's passed quickly, until finally we reached my initial. Christina Johnson had been sorted into Gryffindor and Megan Jones into Slytherin. The room died down after a particularly rowdy round of applause.

Professor McGonagall looked down at the next name on her list, then glanced up, and back down again. She cleared her throat, looked up one more time, and said loudly: "Lestrange, Dalaria."

I moved with my head up. I felt hundreds of stares on me. Draco "accidentally" bumped into me as I moved towards the front of the dwindling crowd. We met eyes briefly and he smirked. I climbed onto the platform and gave the now nervous professor a small smile which was not returned. I sat and directed my eyes towards the crowd that was filled with hatred for my name. Those who knew it had feared it since they were young. Those who didn't would no doubt learn about me. The pure black robes I wore probably did nothing to ease their fears; I wondered what my mother was like at this age. Did her classmates stare at her with such hatred? Or was she innocent and sweet as a youth? Were her eyes always like mine, so dark and probing and fear-inspiring?

Please, forget me.

Professor McGonagall placed the hat on my head. Instantly, I felt violated. My mind was being invaded by this inanimate object!

_Now, now, Dalaria. I'm clearly very animated, and if I didn't know any better I might think you were trying to offend me!_

Was this the hat talking to me?

_Yes, little one, this is the hat. I have to get inside your head! How else would I figure out where you belong? Now, lets see. Oooh, you're an odd one, aren't you! I don't have many like you. The last was, hmm, let me think. No, no, no, hmm, maybe, but perhaps a bit further back… ahhh. It seems that you are very much like your mother. She was an odd one, like you._

I had the sudden desire to rip this hat to shreds.

 _Don't do that, Dalaria! That_ would _offend me. I mean what I said in every good way possible. You're very intelligent, yes, a very… different… sort of mind. I bet you see connections where others don't. And… you're a fighter, eh? You'll fight to the end. You're devoted to the people you love, the things you love, and you don't love casually, do you? No, of course not. Oh, and you're tricky, too! Very tricky, indeed. And rebellious. Yes, you're very much like Bellatrix in that way._

But she's evil and I'm not.

_Evil? Perhaps. But I believe that her evil is a result of intense love for something immoral. Is that fair? Yes, I thought so. But believe me, Dalaria, you are much like your mother. You could belong anywhere. Hufflepuff, for your love. Ravenclaw, for your unusual mind. Gryffindor, for your fight. Or Slytherin, for your fire and cunning. I saw these in your mother. She, of course, was loyal to Slytherin. And you?_

I am not loyal to Slytherin.

_Why?_

Spite.

_Well, that seems like a very Slytherin reason to not be loyal to Slytherin. You'd do well anywhere, Dalaria. I have to admit, you are an odd case. You have a lot of baggage._

You're a hat. How could you know?

_I am the Sorting Hat! I know everything about you, little Dalaria. Now, the easy thing for you to would be to continue your familial allegiance to Slytherin, but you don't want to. That will make your life a lot harder. But… you're content with that? Out of spite, you'll put yourself in a potentially hellish situation?_

Yes. Absolutely.

_Very well. One last thing, before you go…_

Well?

_Your mother, Bellatrix, she is everything you could be, but will choose not to. That, my dear, that is what lifts your soul above hers, and will define your name as one of the great ones. Farewell, Dalaria Lestrange._

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The hat's yell was deafening, but did not ignite another internal fiery explosion. Professor McGonagall lifted the hat from my head and directed me to the left where the Gryffindor table was. I glanced around at the older students. Some Gryffindors clapped politely, as did a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Most eyed me warily. From the Slytherin table, I only got death stares. The unaware students, mostly first years, clapped happily. Bo and Benji were especially loud, while Theo raised his eyebrows and grinned slightly, his face saying: "I told you so."

I sat cautiously at the table where Hermione Granger, Christina Johnson, Lavender Brown and Seamus Finnigan already were seated at the end. I chose the seat beside Hermione – who sat to the right of Christina – though I carefully spaced myself several inches from her. She whispered an excited hello. A pair of red-headed twins sat across from each other, one of the other side of Christina. They stared at me with identical, cold stares.

Lavender sat beside the other twin and obviously one of the ones who was aware of my heritage. She wasn't angry, but wore an expression of naïve fear, as if she expected me to wield my wand and kill everyone in the room. Christina became engaged in conversation with the twin beside her.

Seamus, who sat across from me and beside Lavender, eyed me curiously, his freckled face wrinkled slightly. I met his eyes with mine. He frowned in thought, then his eyes widened in realization, but not of what I had expected.

"You're from the Downs!" He exclaimed loudly. His exclamation was met with a loud shush, as the name Neville Longbottom was called to have his discussion with the Sorting Hat. My head snapped around and I saw the small, round boy I had seen at the fountain in Diagon Alley, and the boy who walked with Hermione carrying the toad. _Please not Gryffindor._ My attention was drawn away from Neville as Seamus continued speaking rapidly.

Seamus grinned sheepishly. "Oops. But you are from the Downs? Collic's Downs?" I nodded. "I knew I had met you somewhere! You don't exactly forget someone like you!" His voice had raised again and the nearby Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students turned slightly so as to listen to this conversation. I raised a finger to my lips to try and quiet him. He nodded in understanding. "Yeah, yeah, sorry about that! D'you remember me? We met in Belfast, at the Quidditch World Cup, last–"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

_Oh no._

"– year?" Seamus was nodding intensely. "Remember? Canada versus Scotland? Canada won after, like, four days! We met out by the tents? You were avoiding your family?" He finally lowered his voice. "You caught me smoking?"

Of course I remembered this mischievous boy, but he spoke so fast I could hardly get a word in! Meanwhile, Neville was anxiously walking towards the now loudly cheering table I sat at.

"Yes, Seamus, I remember you," I said quickly. "It's hard to forget someone who burns their eyebrows off with a cigarette."

He grinned and laughed loudly. "You do remember! That was a great match, eh?" I didn't reply as Neville sat down next to Seamus. Neville's eyes were down. His pale face flushed with embarrassment as one of the red-headed twins reached across Seamus and Lavender to slap him on the back.

"Welcome to Gryffindor, Neville! Best house in the school!"

Neville smiled a little and looked up, but caught me looking at him. His expression changed to one of confusion. How was he supposed to feel? I know what I would feel. Angry, scared, and sad; not a good combination for rational decision-making. But he kept his feelings to himself, likely because of another emotion I picked up from the frightened young boy: hope. Hope that maybe I wasn't like the people who tortured his family. I would speak to him, but not tonight.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

I had no idea who had just been sorted. It seems that Seamus had switched his conversation topic to something more of Lavender's interest, which was perfectly alright with me. I directed my attention back to the Sorting. My cousin was called up after Morag MacDougal had been sorted into Ravenclaw. He swaggered to the stool and the hat barely touched his head when it hollered: "SLYTHERIN!" Chaotic applause ensued.

I wondered how the Slytherin table would have reacted if I had been put there?

"Nott, Theodore," called out Professor McGonagall. Theo walked up quietly, observing the wall behind the Head Table intently. After a few seconds, the hat once again called out: "SLYTHERIN!"

He smiled; I got the impression that it was more of a melancholic smile than one of happiness. Once again, the Slytherin table screamed.

This exact process was repeated for Pansy Parkinson, except that her smile was joyous. The twins I had spotted were next.

"Patil, Padma," said McGonagall.

The small girl, likely of Indian heritage, took the stool. The hat contemplated her placement for less than a minute before she was deemed a Ravenclaw. Her twin, Pavarti, took her place and soon joined us new Gryffindors. She took her seat beside me. Apparently more friendly than I will ever be, she chose to place no space between the two of us. I compensated by diminishing the space between Hermione and me, so I was not touching either of them.

"Hi!" She exclaimed to all of us. A unharmonious chorus of 'hello' and 'hi' and 'welcome' was returned, along with a smile from me as a greeting.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" I didn't know who that was.

McGonagall paused before reading the next name, just as she had with mine. The room was silent as she spoke, her voice nearly cracking: "Potter, Harry."

Nobody moved. After a few moments, I saw a red-headed boy give another boy a small shove forward. He walked to the front, and the entire room collectively took a breath in.

He was skinny. Not lean skinny: scrawny skinny. He had messed up black hair that almost hid the prominent lightning-shaped scar that marked his defiance of death. His round, wire-rimmed glasses framed brilliant, green eyes. His robes, though brand new, did not quite fit him. They swallowed him up, and brushed the floor as he walked.

This was the Boy Who Lived. Three of the four tables watched in awe as he sat at the stool while McGonagall placed the old hat on his head. His eyes closed.

Minutes of suspense went by. Muted whispers ran like waves throughout the crowd.

_Surely not Slytherin? Gryffindor for sure! But he must have been really smart to not get murdered! He's a Ravenclaw! Come to Slytherin, Potter, I dare you. What about Hufflepuff? No way! It's got to be–_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The applause was comparable to when Canada won the Quidditch World Cup. I'm sure it could be heard for miles. My response to this celebration was less than enjoyable. I couldn't hear the clapping or yelling; my head was filled with buzzing and humming and ringing and bells and explosion noises and vague exclamations of joy and pride. My vision went black, and, when McGonagall was finally able to kill the crowd, I saw the Harry was sitting beside Neville and that everyone around me seemed to be ecstatic.

I feigned a smile to be polite, but I could barely focus. The remainder of the Sorting is lost to me. I found out later that night that the remaining Gryffindors were Dean Thomas and Ron Weasley. The latter must have been related to the red-headed twins. Professor Dumbledore stood up to speak, but I didn't hear what he said. He was a kindly old man, though, with a soft voice and a pleasing look.

The Gryffindor house was in a celebratory mood that evening. Throughout the feast – which, I will admit, was the best meal I've ever had – conversations were rampant and loud. Other than say hello to a few ghosts, I didn't say anything to anybody, and I was content with that.

At the feast's conclusion, yet another red-head led us to our dorms. I didn't pay attention to where we were, I just followed the crowd and hoped I was with the right group. I vaguely remember a painting of a rather large woman, and a room of red and gold, and a fireplace. We were led to our dorms and told that lights were out in half an hour.

Pavarti, Lavender and Christina were engaged in giggly conversation on one of their beds, while Hermione laid down to read from a thick textbook. I thought of reading, but was exhausted. I would take the time to unpack the next day. Vito had been moved to the Owlery for the night, I was informed. He would be fed and taken care of. I'd visit him tomorrow. I threw my suitcase off of my bed and began to get into my pyjamas. My bed was was under a window that looked out on the Black Lake. Why is it called the Black Lake? Bo would know, or maybe Hermione. I wonder what my first class would be? I'd need a map. That was the last thing I remember thinking.

I slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I wanted to provide a little more insight into Dally's state of mind, as well as set up some stuff for the future and introduce new characters! I took some of Dally's internal experience from my own inner world. I am pretty quiet. I love to read for the escape, I avoid large events (even parties) at all costs, and I have been known to be socially awkward. I enjoy deep one-on-one conversations, but small talk or group discussions are tedious. My mind is always going, so I sometimes don't notice what happens in the real world. I'm very intelligent, and the quiet one who prefers to eat lunch alone, thinking (though I have been known to have a good time with a small group of close friends). I'm not shy, I don't have anxiety, I am not hyperactive. I'm just a quiet person with a different way of thinking about the world, and so is Dalaria.
> 
> On another note, I want to say that while I'm adding characters I want to keep the main Trio storyline as canon as possible. I'll be taking things primarily from the books, but there are parts of the movie that I will incorporate here!
> 
> If you've read this far, I'd love some feedback! :)


	6. Clocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! As usual, I don't own anything I other than what I have created. I thought I should comment on the songs I have been using (which, of course, don't belong to me) as chapter titles.
> 
> "My Mother's Eyes" was sung by George Jessel in 1929, though I admittedly prefer Frankie Valli's version. This is one of my favourite songs! "Come by the Hills" I heard from Celtic Thunder, though I'm sure there are many, many versions. "Werewolves of London" is by Warren Zevon. I hadn't heard it for a long time but it inspire some of the events of the chapter. "Homeward Bound" is by Simon and Garfunkel, a favourite of my parents. "The Lion's Roa"r is by First Aid Kit. It's the only song by them that I know and was one of the inspirations for this story. Finally, "Clocks" (this chapter's namesake) is by Coldplay. I have a rather eclectic taste in music :)
> 
> Enjoy this sixth chapter!

**Clocks**

* * *

 

_"Singing come out of things unsaid,_

_Shoot an apple of my head_

_And a rouble that can't be named,_

_A tiger's waiting to be tamed."_

_\- Clocks_

* * *

Six hours later, I was awakened by a violently bright light shining through the window above my head. The Sun was rising above the Black Lake, and its reflection on the glass waters nearly blinded me. A look at my pocketwatch, carelessly strewn on the bedside table, told me that it was a quarter to six. Breakfast started at eight, and classes began at nine sharp. We had been instructed to travel to the Great Hall with our roommates on this first day. I contemplated going back to sleep for another few minutes, but decided that my body had woken up for a reason at this time. I might as well make the most of the quiet.

For the first time, I took notice of what was in the dorm room, my home for the next ten months. Five beds, each with crimson and gold hangings, were spaced around the room. The bed on which I had found my trunk was underneath a window and faced the large, carved wooden door. There was a stove in the centre of the room and the scarlet blankets on the bed were thick; I imagined it would get cold in this tower in the winter. Each bed had a little table with a lamp and mirror, and our school trunks were at the foot of our beds. We each had a dresser for our clothes and a section of wall by our bed we could dedicate to decoration. There were several perches that looked comfortable, and I suspected that with some work and a long board of some sort, one could make it on top of the beds. The hardwood floor was covered by several thick rugs and fluffy pillows. There was another window, on the opposite side of the room, with no bed beneath it. An old, cracked clock hung above the door. Almost everything was subtly accented with red and gold lions.

I had not yet unpacked, which I now regretted; I didn't want to wake the others while finding my robes in my trunk. I did so painfully slowly and quietly got dressed into the standard uniform. At Diagon Alley, I had bought three sets of the following: white buttoned shirt, grey knit vest, knee-high socks in either black or grey, black nylons, sensible black shoes, grey pleated skirt and a black robe with adjustable collar and crest. At the time, I didn't know what 'adjustable collar and crest' meant, but now I saw that overnight, the collar had changed from black to maroon, and the Hogwarts emblem over the heart had been replaced with that of Gryffindor. A red and yellow stripe had also appeared on the cardigans and vests, while the cardigans had gained the emblem as well. I had been provided with several red and yellow ties, thickly striped, as well as a scarf, toque, gloves, winter robe, and poster, all in the appropriate colours. A student guidebook (with a map!) was also included.

This first day, I wore my shirt, vest, and skirt. For now, I would go around barefoot and without the robe. I tried and failed to tie the tie. I would have to get someone to teach me how to wear it. I looked in the mirror and decided that something must be done about my hair. It was unruly as ever. I hated to brush it; despite the thick curls my hair rarely knotted, so when I did brush it, it went all puffy. I was used to wearing it in a loose bun, which Rohesia had usually put together for me. However, that would fall out every few hours and Ellie would have to fix it.

Eying the tie that I had become frustrated with, an idea came to me. I snatched up the yellow and red strand of fabric and began to wrap it around my head. After ten minutes of experimentation, I ended up with something that seemed functional and looked not too bad, if I did say so myself! The tie looked like a simple headband from the front, keeping my bangs at bay, while the ends wrapped around the base of a messy low-sitting bun. My curls were still there, dark and bouncing, and the tie held my wand more securely in my hair. I'm not sure that the look would be one in the newest fashion magazine, but it worked.

It was only a quarter after six now, and I didn't want to disturb my roommates, so I grabbed my expansive bookbag and snuck downstairs quietly, stopping briefly in the girls washroom. I climbed down the stairs into the common room and confirmed that I was the only one awake.

The common room was circular and warm, both in temperature and atmosphere. A fire had been going all night underneath an old mantle with – you guessed it – a lion engraved into it, and a regal lion's portrait above the mantle. This grand fireplace took up one wall, and was flanked on either side by tall bookshelves with hundreds of novels. There were sliding ladders available to reach the top shelves. The staircase to the girls dorms was to the right of this fireplace, and the boys' to the right. A full-size mirror stood against each of the staircases. Across from the fireplace was another wall, smaller, covered in portraits of old witches, wizards, and various animals. Also on this wall were two bulletin boards with a human-sized opening between them. This must have been where we entered the night before. The rest of the 'walls' in the room were more window than wall. Thick crimson curtains hung open at each window. From various windows in this tower, one could see the Lake, Quidditch pitch, forest, two other towers, and what could only have been the Owlery. I made a mental note to visit Vito after classes.

Big, squishy armchairs were placed in front of the fire. Various couches and less squishy armchairs were placed around little coffee tables at each of the windows. There was a large open area in the middle of the room. The colours were inviting; browns, deep reds, and subtle golds greeted my eye at every angle. I was quite sure that this room had many secrets and I was intent on finding them all, but not today.

Instead, I sat down in front of the fire, pulled my feet underneath me, and rummaged through the blue bag Rohesia had given me until I found a favourite: _Swiss Family Robinson_. I hadn't read it since the previous November, and though I knew every word by heart it never failed to entertain me. And so it did, for over an hour. I was so intently focused in my book that I didn't notice when I was joined in the common room. I was startled when she plopped herself down in the chair across from me.

Looking up, I saw a very tall girl, maybe two or three years older than me. Her skin was dark but clear, and her hair hung in intricate braids. She was very pretty, and most definitely an athlete. Something was familiar about her. She smiled warmly. "You're up early! I'm usually the first one up, although I did sleep in quite a bit today! What are you reading?"

I told her, and she seemed confused. "But isn't that a muggle book?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it's one of my favourites."

"Really?" Her eyes widened in surprise, and then she grinned. "I just thought… well, nevermind."

"You just thought because of my name, I'd despise anything muggle?" I asked simply. I wasn't really offended, and I hoped my question didn't sound too sarcastic.

"Well, I guess so. I was wrong. I'm sorry," she said, seeming genuinely apologetic.

I waved her apology away. "Don't worry about it." I paused and smiled. "So, I guess _you_ know who I am!"

The girl laughed. "Yes, I think most people here do. Well, most who grew up with at least one magic parent. I'm Angelina, by the way. Angelina Johnson." She stuck out her hand.

"You're Christina's sister!" That was why she had seemed familiar! I waited a few seconds before realizing that I had left Angelina with her hand awkwardly out. I quickly shook and retreated back comfortably into the chair.

"Yeah, I am! She'd be one of your roommates, I guess!" Angelina said thoughtfully. "So, here's the thing, Dalaria–"

"Dally," I said. "People call me Dally."

"Dally. I like it! Okay, so here's the thing, Dally. The Johnson family, we're known for being a little…. hot-headed, I guess? Honestly, I think the Quidditch team is a little scared of me. I'm a Chaser, by the way. But my sister and I are a lot alike. We can make pretty rash decisions, fast judgments." She took a breath. "Do you see where I'm going with this?" I just raised my eyebrows. "Well, Chris might have made up her mind about you, already. She's a real sweet girl, but stubborn. She might take a while to come around to you."

I nodded in understanding. "I've prepared for that. I don't expect I'll be one of the popular kids here, and I don't really want to be. I guess what I want is for people to see me for me, you know? And not for my mother?" I gave a sneaky smile and indicated the tie wrapped around my head. "I think being in Gryffindor might help a bit with that."

Angelina laughed. "I can imagine! But really, Dally, if you ever need help or anything, or want someone to talk to or need someone to beat up someone else, I'm totally there for you."

"Why?" I didn't mean to say it out loud, but sometimes I confuse my internal world with the external one.

"Why? Well, I guess for what you said. You want to be _you_ , not _them_. I like to see the good in people. Chris tends to see the bad." She shrugged. "It's simple."

This conversation was going surprisingly well. I found there were few people who I could easily talk with. Angelina indicated the tie in my hair. "That's cute, by the way. But you do need to wear a tie properly, too." I started to tell her about my earlier struggles, but she cut me off. "Say no more. Go grab it, I'll help you out."

I ran up to the dorm. A few more people had made their way sleepily to the common room, though none of my roommates nor any of the first year boys were present. I quietly opened the door to the dorm and saw that the other four were still asleep. I tiptoed to my bed, threw my book bag on it, and grabbed another tie from my trunk. It was 7:30 and I was contemplating whether or not I should wake up my dormmates when the old, cracked clock above the door began to scream.

I leapt backwards and pulled out my wand, although there was nothing I could have done with it. Lavender quickly covered her head with the blankets in fright, while Pavarti jumped out of bed ready to fight and Hermione sat up wide-eyed. Christina screamed and threw her pillow at the clock. The clock's screaming continued for a full minute. A rapid, random ticking sound was heard next. Was it my imagination, or was that the clock… laughing?

A raspy female voice called out: "GOOD MORNING! GOOD MORNING" The ticking laughter continued. This went on for another minute until the room went silent. The five of us remained in our respective positions momentarily, until Hermione whispered: "Good morning!"

The other four of us returned morning greetings warily. I had been awake for almost two hours and I was in shock; I couldn't imagine how the other girls felt. Lavender came out from under her blanket. "What time is it?" She yawned.

"SEVEN-THIRTY! SEVEN-THIRTY!" That was the clock again. Violent ticking resumed for another minute. Our shock returned, though the response was not as aggressive this time.

"Seven-thirty," Hermione whispered.

"Oh," replied Lavender. Pavarti was rubbing her eyes, and Christina retrieved her weaponized pillow. I stood rubbing my temples.

Hermione got out of bed and waved at me while yawning widely. "Good morning! It's Dally, right? We met before, remember? Just a few days ago."

I nodded. "Yeah. And you're Hermione?"

"Yep! We didn't get to talk much last night. "

"I wasn't feeling too good. I guess since I've always lived with pretty much no one around, being in such a big place was a bit intimidating," I admitted.

" _You_ think _this_ is intimidating?" Lavender asked, with heavy implication in her tone. Clearly, she didn't think I had a right to be intimidated. Pavarti caught that as well, and hit the other girl with her pillow.

Pavarti turned to me. "I get that. I've never spent a night away from Addy! That's my sister, Padma. It'll take a while to get used to."

"So will that wake-up alarm," groaned Christina, who was currently struggling to find the will to get up. Pavarti and I laughed.

The others began to get ready for the day, and so I put on my socks, shoes and robe, stuffed my books into the old leather knapsack that Ellie Hudson had given me for my last birthday, and headed downstairs to get help with this damned tie.

Angelina hadn't moved, and the common room was starting to fill up with more people. I sat back down in the squishy armchair and held out the tie to Angelina. She knelt in front of me and started to work with the tie. "Angelina," I began. "Does your clock scream?"

She laughed. "Oh, yeah! I mean, no, our clock doesn't scream. But yours does, doesn't it?" I nodded. "Well, in the Gryffindor house, everyone has to be up by 7:30 on weekdays, and 8:30 on weekends. 9:00 on special holidays, like Christmas or Easter. Each dorm room is sort of haunted, and each little spirit has only one job, which is to make sure you're all up at the right time." She did something fancy with the tie and tried to explain it to me. It didn't make sense, but I didn't indicate that. She continued speaking. "Let me think, now. I only know some of the alarms. You have the screaming clock. Does it also scream when you ask the time? I thought so. The second year boys' windows open and shut, sixth year girls' stove overheats, we have an old radio that wakes us up to light jazz, and the fifth year boys have a frog statue that croaks. Your male classmates, the first years, have it easy. Their spirit is pretty quiet, just sort of brushes by and wakes them up nicely. Ah, and here you go! All done!"

I looked down and saw that the tie was indeed done properly and looked nothing like my previous attempts. "Thanks," I said.

"No problem! Now, wait for your roommates and go down with them. That way McGonagall can hand out all your schedules at once. Breakfast starts around eight but since she has to talk to you in your groups you probably won't eat until 8:30. Did you find the map? Good. And if you do get lost just ask someone, most people here are pretty friendly. Have a good first day!" She smiled and then ran back up the stairs to her dorm.

I stood in front of one of the mirrors and checked my appearance. The tie looked good. The robe fit nicely. Benji had been right; red and gold did suit me. With my hair tied up like this, I resembled my mother less. And I am quite certain she would not have appreciated Gryffindor colours being woven into the dark curls she prized so much.

I reached into my knapsack and pulled out my book again. It was only 7:45 so I read for a few minutes more. Finally, a few minutes past eight, my roommates came down the stairs and, surprisingly, came up to me. Lavender was reluctant but followed.

"Ready, Dally?" Pavarti asked. I nodded. We headed out the human-sized opening I had observed earlier, pushed something back, and stepped through a hole in the wall. I saw that the entrance was indeed protected by a painting of a large lady.

"Well hello, dearies!" She drawled. "Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Off for breakfast? Then classes? Well, remember, the password is _caput draconis_. Oh, wait, wait, wait. Before you head off, tell me your names? Your full names, please, and then any nicknames your prefer. And maybe where you're from? Oh, I love new students! Go on, now!"

We stared at each other. The large woman was quite bubbly and vivacious.

Christina stepped forwardly confidently. "I'm Christina Melody Johnson. I live on a farm, in Wales. People call me Chris."

The fat lady nodded.

Pavarti waved shyly. "Pavarti Patil, ma'am. I don't have any middle names, and my twin sister calls me Vata, but that's just her. I was born in New Delhi, but I live in London now."

Another nod of approval.

I took my turn. "Hi. My name's Dalaria Leigh Galena Lestrange." My voice cracked at the end. "I prefer Dally, thank you. Oh, and I'm from Collic's Downs, in Leitrim County, Ireland."

The fat lady laughed. "I could tell so much from your accent. And you, dear?" She indicated to Hermione.

"I am Hermione Jean Granger," she said pragmatically. "I was born and raised in Bath, ma'am, and Hermione is just fine for me."

Finally, Lavender stepped forward nervously. "Lavender Jonquil Brown. I'm from Small Scamandish, a wizarding village in Dorset. A few people call me L.J., my initials."

The Fat Lady – I had determined that this would be her title until I learned otherwise – paused before repeating everything back slowly. "So there's Chris, from Wales. Pavarti, from India but now in London, and she has a twin! Then we have Dally, the Irishgirl! Collic's Downs. Hermione, from Bath, and finally Lavender, or L.J. from Small Scamandish in Dorset. Alright dearies! Enjoy your classes! Off you go!" She began to shoo us with her hands.

We went off, and apparently Hermione knew where she was going so we followed her. We walked down two sets of stairs quietly.

"So…" Pavarti started. "I'm half-blood. My dad's the wizard. He worked for the wizarding government in India before being transferred to the embassy in London. My mum basically withdrew from the muggle community once she had twins! What about the rest of you?"

"I'm a muggle," Hermione asserted. "Both my parents are dentists, so you can imagine they were shocked to receive the letter!"

"What's a dentist?" Lavender asked.

"Tooth doctor," I replied.

All but Hermione were surprised at my sudden answer. Hermione continued: "Yes, they fix teeth. They wanted me to be a dentist as well, but I don't think I will now that I have opportunities in, well, magic!"

Chris jumped in. "I'm a half-blood. My mum's the witch, dad's a muggle. Mum works on Floo Powder. She makes specialty powders, like for international trips or animal transfers and one that actually brings drunks home alright even if they don't know where they live! That last ones experimental. Dad runs a farm, hundreds of acres. Dairy. My sister Angie and I played a lot of Quidditch there. We have a younger brother, Scotty."

"I have a younger brother, too!" Lavender exclaimed. "I'm pureblood, so we weren't all that shocked when I got the letter. Dad runs a bookshop in Small Scamandish, and Mum runs the community garden."

We walked in silence down one more flight of stairs. Perhaps I could avoid–

"What about you, Dally?" Hermione asked innocently.

I groaned internally. Chris snorted and Lavender fast-tracked down the stairs until she was a few steps below me. Pavarti tilted her head slightly towards me, but didn't say anything. Five, six, seven, eight steps, before I spoke.

"Both my parents are magic," I said quietly.

"No kidding," Lavender whispered. Pavarti hit her on the back with a book she was carrying. Hermione seemed oblivious to the tension. It seemed that she was the only one unaware of my situation.

"I was born in Russia," I continued. This fact surprised all."But my father is Irish and my mother English, so I got Irish citizenship. I don't see them, though. I live with my brother's sister, Rohesia, and her husband their son. In Collic's Downs, which is pretty isolated. We only have one neighbour, that's Benji Hudson, my best friend. He's here, in Hufflepuff." I thought that would end the conversation.

"Why don't you see your parents anymore?" Hermione inquired.

"Dear God," Chris complained. We were at the last flight of stairs.

"They're just not in my life. They… had some problems, did some things, and they went away for a long time." My feet were particularly interesting at this point in time.

"What did they do? Do you miss them? Where did they go? It's horrible, taking a child's parents away like that! I can't imagine what your mother must be thinking."

This sentence was spoken with the worst timing in the history of the universe. For, as we five came down the final flight of stairs, we ran into none other than our male classmates from Slytherin, waiting to receive schedules and instructions from McGonagall. Draco stood surrounded by Gregory, Vincent and a boy I vaguely knew as Blaise Zabini. Theo stood off to the side, obviously irritated with the conversation his roommates were having.

"Her mother? Is that what you're talking about?" Draco sneered, stepping forward to face Hermione. He was looking for trouble, and his squad of gorillas was there to back him up.

"Why yes, we are talking about Dally's mother. I don't believe we've met. I'm Hermione Granger. I'm a muggle-born, I don't know why I feel like that's important to say but–"

Draco began to laugh. "Oh, this will be an interesting conversation. Go on, Dally, tell her about your dear mother."

My face flushed (of course, this brought my complexion only to that of a normal human). "Hermione, this is my lovely cousin Draco Malfoy."

"Pleasure," she said, sticking out her hand. Chris reached out from Hermione's other side and pushed her hand down.

"Oh, he won't be shaking your hand. He's too proud for that," she said angrily. Obviously, she held some animosity towards the Malfoy name. Undoubtedly for the same reason that she hadn't yet spoken a word directly to me.

Draco eyed her evilly for a few seconds, then directed his icy gaze towards me. "Forget I mentioned anything. Everything will come out soon enough. By the way, Dalaria, I've written to Mother this morning. I mentioned your… predicament. It seems to me that you've been placed in this despicable house accidentally." To Chris, it seems, insulting Gryffindor was about the worst thing one could do. She took a menacing step towards him, and stood several inches above him. Draco continued as his giant slugs also stepped forward. "Aunt Rohesia and Uncle Xavier won't be pleased with you, Dalaria. Cyrus was quite a legend in the Slytherin house, and I know that our family was expecting the two of us to carry the Malfoy, Rastrick, Black and Lestrange names proudly."

"I guess we just have different values, Draco. It's not you, it's me." I smiled sweetly and proudly adjusted the Gryffindor tie I wore around my head.

Draco took one more step forward, so that I was practically staring straight up; he was much shorter than Gregory, Vincent, Blaise and Theo, but I was tiny compared to him. Behind me, Pavarti and Lavender both tensed. He smirked: "I can't wait until your mother hears about this."

"Back off, Malfoy," said a bored voice, not threatening or menacing but more irritated. "Can't you go ten minutes without a confrontation?" It was Theo who spoke, though he stared down the hallway at nothing in particular. He was clearly tired and bored, likely after a night of Draco's complaints and sneers.

None of us moved. I heard people coming down the hallway from the left.

"Is there a problem, _Mister_ Malfoy?"

Benji. Hearing his voice was nice. His tone was almost friendly, but commanding. He came and stood beside Draco and me, looking down on Draco. The other Hufflepuff boys gathered confused behind him. Lavender made her way over there and filled them in on the drama.

Draco let his stare remain for a few seconds more; overall, I found his attempt at intimidation amusing. He tilted his head towards Benji and spread his hands. "Not at all, _Mister_ Hudson. Just greeting my cousin and her new–" he glanced at my roommates. "Friends. Good day." He then turned and went back to his group of idiots. Theo distanced himself even more and rolled his eyes.

Ahead of us in line were the Ravenclaw boys and girls and Hufflepuff girls, in addition to the Slytherin boys. It was now 8:15. Benji stared after Draco for a few seconds before turning back to me.

"Now that _that's_ done… Good mornin' Dally! Isn't this place amazing? What's your common room like? And who are your roommates? This is Ernie," he said, indicating the only boy who wasn't earnestly listening to Lavender. "How'd you get woken up? What d'you expect our classes are?"

These questions, and many others, were answered and pondered over the next few minutes. I listened as Benji spoke, his voice coloured with wonder and awe, and added in my own comments occasionally, while observing the other conversations going on around me.

Hermione was going on and on to Chris about one of the old paintings on the wall; Chris was not nearly as enthused as Hermione. Pavarti was looking above the crowd, trying to find her sister, I'd imagine. Lavender was still talking with the Hufflepuff boys. Draco was joking with his cronies while Theo stood off to the side, flat faced and staring at the ceiling with bored curiosity.

We slowly moved ahead until the Slytherin boys were the last group ahead of ours. Based on the noise behind me I had concluded that the last first years – the Gryffindor boys and Slytherin girls – had arrived. McGonagall, looking still as harsh and hawkish as the night before in the morning light, was handing out papers to the Slytherin boys.

I couldn't hear her words, but her expression was aloof when addressing Draco. For his part, he showed her very little respect, sniggering and mocking. Theo rolled his eyes, while Blaise, Gregory and Vincent practically giggled with glee. When she was done with the boys, she deftly blocked Draco's way and said something that clearly put him in his place. This he was not happy about. I'm sure his father would hear about it.

We were next. I stepped forward with Hermione and Chris while Pavarti forcefully dragged Lavender away from her apparently deeply stimulating conversation with one of the Hufflepuff boys. McGonagall looked at us, and her stiff hawk eyes shifted suddenly changed into those of a soft, motherly chickadee.

She began a speech that had been well-rehearsed over years of delivery. "Good morning, fellow Gryffindor ladies. We met briefly last night. My name is Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration instructor, and Head of Gryffindor House. Throughout the year, we'll get to know each other quite well. You'll have classes with me most days, and I'll be conducting interviews with each of you several times this year. As your House Head, if you ever had any concerns about anything at all, please do see me before it's too late." I had a feeling that here, with immature and amateur wizards in training working with potions and spells, things could go wrong quickly. "Now, you all have all of your school supplies, I hope. If not, please see me as soon as possible, or request a used text from your other professors. I trust you have found your maps? Very good. And you've figured out your uniforms, quite nicely. There's five points to Gryffindor for that. The point system is described in detail in your student guide, if you ever are curious. You'll get your schedules now. I have one for each of you, with your interview times with me written down at the bottom. When I give you yours, just make sure it has the right name, your proper address, and your parents names all right. And if you could give me a wand description, that would be lovely. So many students lose their wands in the first year! I hope it won't be any of you!" For the first time, she smiled. She looked at the papers she held in her hand, flipping through the dwindling stack. "Ah, here we are. Gryffindor girls. Miss Brown?" She handed Lavender her schedule.

Lavender read the paper carefully and said: "Everything looks right." She rummaged in her bag for a few seconds and retrieved her magical stick. "My wand is mahogany wood with a, um, phoenix feather core. It's nine and a half inches. Mr. Ollivander said it was stiff."

McGonagall nodded while noting Lavender's description. "And what about it's appearance? Colour, carvings, handle, handedness, that sort of thing?"

Lavender spun her wand in her fingers a few times. "It's kind of a shiny brown, and the handle's more knobby, I guess? It has ivy carvings along the long not-handle part. It's right-handed."

"Very good, thank you. Next, we have Miss Granger."

Hermione took her schedule and glanced at it quickly before confirming that all of her personal details were up to date. "Although, Mum and Dad were thinking of moving next summer to a smaller place. My wand," which she stored carefully in a wand holster, sewn to the inside of her robe, "is eleven and a half inches, vine wood, dragon heartstring core. Norwegian Ridgeback, I believe. It's slightly pliant, and rather pale in colour. The handle is for a right-handed person, and is spiralled counterclockwise. There's some sort of inscription on the spiral, but I haven't been able to translate it yet."

McGonagall was pleased with her thoroughness and confidence. "Thank you, Miss Granger. And now you, Miss Johnson."

Christina found one error. "Our farm in Wales is on rural route seventeen not twenty-seven, though our property does back on twenty-seven."

"Ah, thank you for the correction, Miss Johnson," McGonagall said, tapping her wand against the paper. "That should fix it."

Christina's eyes went wide. "Yeah, it did! Wow!" She shook her head and hastily pulled her wand from an outer robe pocket. "Mine is made of ash, with unicorn hair. It's twelve inches and pretty flexible. I'd say it's more reddish in colour? The handle is curved," she said, tilting her head to follow the bend in the wood, "and it's for a lefty. There're some webs carved near the base of the handle."

"Alright, thank you Miss Johnson. Next, Miss Lestrange." She said my name with no hint of contempt or hesitation and looked me squarely in the eye as she handed me my schedule, actually smiling. I returned the smile, trying to be as friendly as possible.

I looked at the paper quickly and saw the address that had been on my acceptance letter. What concerned me were the two names listed under "Parents or Guardians." Bellatrix and Rodolphous Lestrange.

"Professor, for 'Parents or Guardians.' They–" I indicated the page, "may be my mother and father, but they're not my guardians or my Mum and Dad. I'm sure you are aware of their current place of residence? My guardians, I guess, if you could call them that, are my Aunt and Uncle, Rohesia and Xavier Rastrick."

McGonagall's eyes filled for a moment with empathy and apology.

"Yes, of course. Let me fix that." Her wand touched my page, and the names I despised changed into names that merely irritated me.

I nodded a silent thanks, and continued on to my wand, which I pulled out of my hair. McGonagall eyed me curiously as I did so, though I didn't respond to her stare. "So it's rather short, only eight inches. The wood's acacia, and it has a bare-fronted hoodwink feather for the core."

"What core was that?" McGonagall asked, not raising her eyes from the page on which she wrote.

"Bare-fronted hoodwink feather, ma'am. It's not common. It's extremely pliable, and dark brown with a handle with kind of a big long bump, I guess? There's no carvings. It's shiny, but not super shiny. More… matte? Oh, and I'm also left-handed."

"Interesting," murmured Professor McGonagall. _A most peculiar wand._ A barely audible whisper that apparently only I heard. McGonagall continued. "And finally," she peered at the page through her small glasses, which sat precariously on the tip of her nose, "Miss Patil. The second Miss Patil I've encountered today, is that right?"

Pavarti smiled and accepted the paper the older woman handed her. She read through it quickly and noted that everything was correct. Her wand was being stored more obviously, like mine, behind her ear. McGonagall noticed this and commented that Padma stored hers the same way, though behind the left, rather than right, ear. Pavarti explained: "That's how our father keeps his, most of the time. I guess he's proud of his wand. It's Indian, so it's very different from British wands. Mine is American. We lived there for a few years when Father worked at the Indian Embassy for Magic in Washington."

Even from a quick glance, I doubt I would ever mistake Pavarti's wand for someone else's. She began her description: "It's made of Osage orange wood, with dragon vein, from the Alaskan Stormtooth, for the core. It's very whippy." She demonstrated. "It's ten inches, and the handle has bumps for the fingers. The colour is sort of orangey, but with brown swirls."

"Tiger stripes," I whispered.

Pavarti glanced at me and nodded. "Yes, like a Bengal tiger. Addy's looks like a clouded leopard." She smiled thoughtfully. I was sure that there was a story here, but this wasn't the time for it.

"Thank you, Miss Patil," McGonagall said, lifting her eyes from her paper. "Now, go eat breakfast, quickly though. Classes start at nine o'clock sharp. I shall be seeing you at noon today, if you look at your schedules. Off you go, now."

The five of us turned to go into the Great Hall – by now my stomach was angrily demanding nourishment.

"Oh, and ladies?" We turned to McGonagall, who now took on a motherly and affectionate demeanour. She smiled widely. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used this chapter to try and figure out each new character's speaking styles and personalities, and seeing how they contrast each other when in the same situation. I also wanted to try and keep character descriptions accurate to the original story, but give them some more depth. I have lots of ideas for the future!


	7. Mr. Mistoffelees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I only own the characters, settings and plots I have created. Everything else I give due credit to the amazing Ms. J.K. Rowling! (I'm getting a little tired of hearing this, aren't you?)

**Mr. Mistoffelees**

* * *

 

_"His manner is vague and aloof_

_You would think there was nobody shyer_

_But his voice has been heard on the roof_

_When he was curled up by the fire."_

_\- Mr. Mistoffelees, CATS the Musical_

* * *

I sat down at the Gryffindor table in a fairly empty section of seating. My fellow female first years dispersed themselves. Christina went to her sister, Pavarti and Lavender – deep in conversation – found spaces together, and Hermione placed herself by a tall, skinny red-headed boy who seemed rather pretentious; I couldn't tell you why, but he looked like the type.

The Great Hall was not nearly as packed as last night. The Slytherin table in particular was rather desolate, though every Hufflepuff student appeared to be there, chatting joyously. I saw Benji sit down and glance around the room until he found me and waved. He picked up a piece of paper which appeared to be the colourful schedule we had received and pointed excitedly at it. I looked at my schedule and saw the reason for his excitement; Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had Charms together at nine! I indicated that I had seen the good news, and he gave me a big thumbs-up.

I laughed to myself and turned to face the wide array of breakfast foods that were laid out in front of me: sausages, bacon, hashbrowns, fruits and juices and yoghurts, granola and quiche, fresh bread with jam and marmalade and butter, dry cereals, oatmeal, pancakes, waffles, syrup, muffins, and eggs cooked all ways! Taking a plate from the stack in the table's centre, I picked out the breakfast I have had every day since I could chew solid foods: plain yoghurt with honey corn flakes, a soft-boiled egg, an apple, and a glass of milk. Whatever I took automatically refilled itself. House elf magic, I presumed.

Eating silently alone, I now had a better opportunity to study the stained glass in the Great Hall. Behind the teacher's table was a large window mural depicting witches and wizards who, from the colours they wore, I assumed were the founders. They walked about the window frame, changing position every now and then and completely ignoring the obnoxious racket of the current Hogwarts students. The rest of the stained glass was up high, maybe five metres up? Each was big, too; I would estimate at a metre squared!

Counting, I determined that there were exactly 70 specimens of stained glass, each with a different story, spaced nicely around the room. I decided that if I were to eat alone, I might as well study the artwork. One caught my eye this particular morning. Though placed above the Gryffindor table, no red or gold accents characteristic of the house were present in it.

Large, pure pieces of glass shaded in a dark green made it clear that this was a rolling landscape. Delicately cut shards of glass were textured with light and dark greens to create a forest in the distance, which served as a shield for the bright Sun that rose in yellows and oranges behind it. Pale blue glass surrounding this sunrise had a calming effect, while navy and grey clouded glass that covered the rest of the sky indicated that a storm had passed. Most striking about the artwork was the silhouette of a woman, dressed in dark blue robes, with dark hair blowing in a breeze. She faced away, and moved little.

This scene was neither happy nor sad, familiar nor unknown. It didn't invoke feelings of despair or joy. The colours weren't bright, but I wouldn't call them dull. I don't know what drew me to the simple scene, for it was neither of great historical significance – like the piece depicting the banishment of the centaurs – nor from a famous fable – as in the glass showing the three brothers from the Deathly Hallows story. It just _was_ , and I liked it.

I finished my milk and headed off to my first class.

* * *

"Welcome, students, welcome!" A tiny voice squeaked from the front of the classroom as I followed Hermione Granger into our first Charms class. Large arched windows shone natural light on huge bookshelves at the back of the class, while tiered benches and workspaces stood opposite each other, looking in on the Professor, who was not at all what I had expected. He was short, about the height of a goblin, with dark hair combed over to one side. His small circular glasses sat at the tip of his nose, and he wore a small, muggle suit. He wore a permanent expression of extreme joy while standing precariously on a large stack of textbooks. "Sit anywhere you like. Two to a workspace, please. And do fill up the front rows first? Pick your seats carefully, now, because you won't be switching throughout the year!"

I took a seat in the second tier on right side of the room, second in from the wall. Pavarti and Lavender sat in the same seat on the other side of the room, while Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley (I think that was his name) sat nearer to the back facing me. Neville and Hermione were together, as were Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones. Seamus and Dean Thomas took up seats at the front. A familiar being slid in to the seat next to me and clumsily threw his bag on the table.

"Hello again, Dally! Isn't it exciting we got our first class together?" Benji asked as he rummaged through his bag, pulling out a wand and charms book (I did the same).

I was about the answer in agreed enthusiasm when the professor spoke.

"Good morning, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Welcome to Hogwarts!" His grin was much too big for his small stature. "My name is Professor Filius Flitwick. I am the Ravenclaw Head of House, though if any of you have a problem I would be most pleased to be of assistance. I will be your Charms professor for the next _seven_ years." He jumped off his stack of books and began to walk around so he could face different students.

"Yes, only seven years to become fully educated witches and wizards! A lot of learning will go into that, but also persistence and dedication. _I_ expect you to put all of your effort into this class, and all your classes, and if you do that, _you_ can expect to do well! Charms can be a very enjoyable class. We get to do a lot of different stuff, and I make sure you always have some hands-on time in class. There will be some theory, sure, but the most important thing is that you know how to do it! For example," he said, pulling out his wand, "I could go into great detail about the history of the Jigging Jinx, about how it was actually a young Scottish wizard who developed it after a long night of Firewhiskey, how he and a friend got into a duel and he, in his drunken state, muttered an unintelligible collection of syllables which caused the other poor man to dance uncontrollably! Unfortunately, our young Scot passed out in a puddle of water and never woke up, while the other danced himself to death! That's just the short story. So you see, you could spend all your time learning the stories behind these charms, or you could learn them! _Jidancia_!"

He suddenly pointed his wand at Seamus who was nearly asleep in the front row. The young boy was forced up with a start and began to dance a jig, which certainly woke him up! The classroom exploded with laughter. Professor Flitwick let this continue for a minute, and then muttered some sort of countercurse that caused the sandy-haired boy to stop abruptly, smiling from ear to ear. Flitwick applauded with the rest of the class while Seamus bowed and took his seat. "Very good, Mr. Finnigan. Now, we won't be learning that for a while. We must start at the start! Let's begin with the basics of wand-handling."

* * *

67 minutes later, I found myself deep in a dark, musty dungeon; Potions class. The professor was supposed to be an S. Snape. The name struck a bell in my mind, but I couldn't tell you where the bell was from. Arriving in the dungeon, I saw instructions hastily scribbled on the blackboard:

FIND YOUR CAULDRON IN THE BACK LEFT CORNER. FOUR STUDENTS TO A TABLE. WAIT QUIETLY WITH YOUR TEXTBOOK OUT.

I followed these instructions, and seeing that unfortunately there were no empty tables, I cautiously stepped up to one that had a friendly face. "Hi Hermione."

Hermione looked up from the page she was reading intensely. "Hello, Dally! How did you like Charms? I thought Professor Flitwick was just splendid! He's so very knowledgeable! I am most excited for Transfiguration, though. It's fascinating!"

Her tone was of someone much older than herself, but her words were those of an excited child. I responded, nonchalantly sliding into the seat across from her as I spoke. "Oh, Charms was nice. I'm not so sure how I feel about transfiguration. I s'pose I like things to be what they are, plain and simple. But potions," I took a smiling breath, "potions I'm real excited for!"

"Oh, yes! It's like chemistry, I think," Hermione said. Then, realization filled her eyes. "Do you know chemistry? I'm not sure, since you're not a muggle, you know."

I nodded. "Yeah, sure I know some chemistry! Benji's mum Ellie taught me. I kind of–"

"Hey! Mind if we join you two?" A distinct voice asked from behind. I turned and saw that Bo was helping the much smaller Seamus support his cauldron. Both were grinning from ear to ear, perpetually energetic and ecstatic.

"Sure!" Hermione said, gesturing to the two empty seats. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. And you're… Seamus. You danced for Professor Flitwick. And I don't think we've met," she said, reaching her hand out to Bo who was sitting down beside her.

"Bo Axelsson. Ravenclaw," he grinned, indicating his robes. He faced me, his blueberry eyes brightening. "Hey Dally! How's life?"

"Life's good," I said simply. "And you?"

"Life's grand."

The door suddenly flung open and a swirl black flew through forcefully, making its way to the room's front. The figure took long, fast steps, and though he slouched, he towered over everyone. Dark stringy hair framed the still photograph of a sad visage, unfortunately graced with an unattractive hook nose and narrow chin.

He took his place by the blackboard. I had the impression that he wouldn't be one for niceties. "Quiet everyone. Open your textbooks to page 12."

* * *

AT 11:57, I walked into the Transfiguration classroom, one minute before the schedule asked for. It was a long trek from the potions dungeons! Benji sat in a seat alone at the front of the class, with his bag placed in the seat sharing his desk. A cat sat at the front of the class, staring intensely at each student that walked in. I supposed that this was a normal thing at Hogwarts. The room was home to a wide array of odd objects all neatly arranged: cups, feathers, mugs, plates, rats, parakeets, frogs, hats, purses, and broomsticks. I saw no sign of Professor McGonagall as I cautiously took the seat Benji had saved me.

It was nearly silent in the room. I think McGonagall intimidated everyone a little, and no one wanted to get on her bad side on the first day. I leaned in close to Benji and whispered: "The front, really?"

He just shrugged. "Why not? Hey, how was potions? I have it later this afternoon."

I gave him a very diplomatic answer: "The professor is very knowledgeable and likes little details." He could experience the hell that was Snape first hand.

It was now exactly noon, two minutes past the start of class. McGonagall was still quite absent, which I thought was odd; she seemed the type to demand promptness. I would rather be late for Snape than for her! Not everyone in the class shared my opinion though, because just as I thought this, two of my fellow Gryffindors ran in out of breath: Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter.

All heads turned to face the boys who whispered loudly to one another in relief: at least McGonagall wasn't there yet! This relief was short-lived, for the cat sprung from its state of inertia, launching itself into empty space and just before it hit the ground, morphed into a full-grown woman with a striking resemblance to Professor McGonagall.

This would be an interesting class.

* * *

During lunch, I was still curious about the stained glass, so I attempted conversation with various students – my year and older – but was unsuccessful; they were either too interested in other conversation, too uninterested in what I had to say, or still wary of my name and heritage. Most of the rejection came from the latter.

I left the meal long before the lunch hour was up and wandered around the school alone before arriving early in Greenhouse A. A large wooden table took up most of the floorspace, while colourful hanging plants formed a thick canopy above and tubs of black dirt stood as a perimeter around the table. A friendly, round woman greeted me.

"Hello, dear! You're here for the first year class, are you? I'm Professor Sprout," she said, her voice bouncing as she took steps far too big for her squat little legs. She stood at what must have been her desk: a rickety wooden table shrouded in leaves, roots, dirt, buds, and anthropomorphic plants that laughed, giggled and screamed softly. Unlike the other professors who looked classy and refined in their traditional robes, Professor Sprout wore what appeared to be a homemade brown canvas dress, patched and thatched and covered in dirt, with matching gloves, a wide-brimmed hat, and heavy boots. I had a feeling that she would get along well with Ellie Hudson, who was also passionate about her garden.

Professor Sprout picked up a clipboard and looked at what I suspected was a list of names. Her eyes moved rapidly up and down the page. "And what might I be calling you?"

"Dally," I said. "Dally Lestrange."

Professor Sprout's eyes stopped moving and her bright smile turned negative. Silence filled the room and I swear I could hear her thoughts. _Despicable woman, despicable family. Why did he let her here? No right, absolutely no right._

My face was blank. Clearly this woman, usually friendly and cheery, had an intense hatred for everything my name was synonymous with. Bellatrix had hurt her. But what was I supposed to do? An apology would not be accepted, nor would a declaration of my independence from those ghastly ideals. So I said nothing and waited for her verbal response.

Shifting her gaze from the piece of paper, her dark brown eyes met mine. Hers narrowed and I saw that upon further examination of myself, she had recognized the physical similarities between my mother and I. The silence didn't last much longer as she regained the professionalism require of her as a teacher and feigned a welcoming smile. "Welcome to Herbology, Miss Lestrange," she said, her voice choking on niceties. "You'll be at tray 4 this year, and joining you will be," she consulted her paper again, "a Mr. Nott and Mr. Goyle."

Damn.

Theo wasn't bad, but Gregory Goyle? I suspected this would not be an enjoyable class, what with a grudge-holding professor in charge and the Flagrant Idiot on my side. I took my place at my assigned tray and waited in silence with Professor Sprout.

Soon, other students arrived, and Professor Sprout greeted them pleasantly. Pavarti and Lavender were seated with a Slytherin girl I didn't know, and Dean was with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. Christina and Seamus sat together, while Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione were placed at the same tray. The boys were practically ignoring Hermione. Gregory walked in with my cousin and was clearly displeased to learn of his placement away from his beloved Draco. He glared as he sat on the stool associated with our tray that was farthest away from the one I had taken. I saw a dumb smirk cross his lips as Draco and Vincent took their places directly across from us. Theo walked in almost late, still wearing his resting sad face, but with considerably brighter eyes. His hair appeared to be wet. He nodded politely to Professor Sprout and made his way to the final stool at our tray, in between me and Gregory.

"Good afternoon, Dally. You've had a good morning, I hope," Theo said quietly, his eyes briefly meeting mine before exploring the room.

"This is the low point of my day," I murmured so that only he could hear.

He smiled, looking down at the plants in front of him. "Yes, I can imagine." He nodded knowingly towards Gregory and leaned in closer to me to whisper: "At least you don't have all your classes with them. Somehow I've managed to avoid all contact with Ego Supreme and his Useless Sidekicks until now."

I was impressed. "I feel sorry for you, Theo. I could barely spend a few nights in the same house as him, but you've got him for seven years!" I snickered.

Theo smiled slyly. "I plan to spend those seven years subtly insulting the big oafs. They'll never get it."

"Shut it, Nott!" Gregory grunted loudly. He had been listening, and apparently had understood the not-so-subtle insult.

"Oh, Gregory, are we not civilized? Call me Theo, please," Theo insisted mockingly. Meanwhile, Professor Sprout announced that we were waiting for one student.

"Whatever, Nott. I hate you too." Gregory next grumbled something under his breath.

"What was that, Gregory? You'll have to speak up a bit," I said.

"I said," he turned towards Theo and my expressionless faces, "at least you're proper."

"Meaning what?" I asked, knowing full well the answer.

Now he was angry and condescending. "At least none of you's a Mudblood bitch, like yer friend Hudson. I guess he's more a son of a Mudblood bitch."

My blood boiled. My face felt flushed (which probably only brought my complexion to a normal colour). My dark eyes narrowed and I gave the stare, the paralyzing Lestrange stare. I wanted to curse him, to hurt him, to–

"Ah, Mr. Longbottom. We've been waiting for you," Professor Sprout said cheerily. All heads turned towards the front and all voices fell silent. "Now, you go take your seat, right over there between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Crabbe."

Neville's face paled, while Draco and Vincent smirked cruelly. He cautiously sat on the stool that was much too tall for him and shrunk away from the other two boys. I briefly made eye contact with him, but he quickly looked away.

"Alright class, here I am giving you a chance to change seats. If you wish to move, go on now. You won't be able to again!"

I never thought Gregory could move as fast as he did in that moment. Instantly he was around the other side of the table and muscling Neville out of his place. "Move, Longbottom."

Neville, though thoroughly terrified, also looked relieved to be away from the Slytherins. I would be, too. Unfortunately, Gregory was the only student who sought a new seat meaning that the only open place was at tray 4. Upon this realization, Neville was even more on edge than he had been seconds before. But putting that fear aside, he collected his things and cautiously made his way to our tray where he eased himself up onto the stool, not looking at either Theo or me. We both attempted greetings, but they were neither acknowledged nor returned.

Bellatrix had hurt him. But what was I supposed to do?

* * *

The 44 minutes of Herbology were long and awkward and uncomfortable, but they were nothing compared to the torturous 35 minute (though it felt like an eternity) class that followed: History of Magic with Ravenclaw. I sat through the class with Hermione, who, of course, had read the entire history textbook and was competing with Bo – who had also read the entire history textbook – to answer all of the professor's questions.

The professor! A ghost, he was, named Professor Binns. Turns out he fell asleep by a fire one night and just died. He probably fell asleep listening to his own voice. Use tone, use accents, use exciting words! Use anything but the same dead – forgive the pun – voice!

And really, did we need a full lesson on the first day, when this class is only 35 minutes? He was surprised when the end of class came. He said it went by so quickly! He told us to finish the chapter for tomorrow! The chapter!

This class was the epitome of the Monday feeling. The less said about it the better.

* * *

The final class of the day was the longest: 96 minutes of Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrel, a nervous squirrel-like man, and the Slytherin house. I shared a bench with Theo at the very back of the class. The professor – thin, stick-like and hunched – stuttered and tittered and wobbled about, clearly unnerved. I supposed this was just his nature.

After a short introduction, we reviewed the Charming wand-handling that Professor Flitwick had covered this morning (which was apparently a starting point for defensive and offensive hexes and jinxes) and began on some other basic defensive wand positions.

The class wasn't difficult, and I didn't find it to be dragging at all, but I felt uneasy. The period seemed surreal, like it wasn't really happening. And strange thoughts were going through my head, memories from when I was young, like when I first met Benji, and the man who fell off the cliff, and dinners with Xavier's friends. My head was starting to hurt and the strange thoughts turned into detailed daydreams, things I know weren't actual memories. After all, I had never been skiing, and I had never been in a cave, and I knew no angry men with moustaches, and I didn't have an old, ugly owl.

But now I'm rambling. I supposed I was just tired. After dinner, I told Benji that I wasn't feeling well and I went back to the dorm, where I read for an hour and fell asleep long before my roommates came back.

* * *

The rest of the week flew by in a hectic blur. On Tuesday, the day began by joining Hufflepuff once again for Transfiguration, which was followed by another uneasy session in D.A.D.A. I sat next to Bo, as it was a joint Gryffindor-Ravenclaw class, and the lesson on basic offensive wand-handling would be continued later in the day in the second half of the class.

Another awkward Herbology class followed, this time with more pleasant tray-mates Benji and Lavender. Neither Sprout nor Lavender had quite warmed up to me yet, but we were on civil terms. In the Charms class with Slytherin that followed, I had the fortunate pleasure of sitting alone. We began work on levitating small items.

Following lunch was a Potions class that was equal parts unpleasant (due to the professor) and enjoyable (due to my sharing a table with Benji, Chris, and Ernie MacMillan). Professor Snape was clearly unimpressed with all of us, most especially Harry Potter. I wondered what the bitterness was for. The second half of Quirrel's class was next, during which the professor went around from student to student correcting their wandhold. He was quite perplexed about what a left-handed student such as myself or Chris should do. His hands were shaking the entire class. Once again, nothing was particularly alarming about the class, but I felt uneasy.

A worse hell than the day before came with the next ninety-six minutes: History of Magic with Slytherin. Theo and I found a seat in the back where we both practiced our Charms homework for the day, counting down the minutes until 5:38 when we would be released from this torture. It would be easier to just read the chapter that Binns was lecturing on than actually listen. A few of the Slytherins were asleep, and some Gryffindors with drooping eyes, but Hermione made sure they all stayed wide awake. After a silent dinner, I made my way over to the Hufflepuff table where I vaguely remember engaging in conversation with Benji and Ernie about the nature of leprechauns, something I knew nothing about.

That night was our first Astronomy class. Most nights we were required to be in houses by 9:00 p.m., but this class for all the first years began at 10:51 p.m. at the top of the tallest tower. We were separated by houses, and, like our cauldrons in potions, our telescopes had found their way to this roof. The stars sparkled, and the moon was nearly full. I enjoyed the cool of the night, the serenity that came with the infinite world of the heavens, the dance of stars and sky that was unfolding on the Black Lake. Students whispered jokes and yawned loudly and Professor Sinistra droned on and on, but I didn't hear a word of it.

The world was entrancing, enchanting, enthralling. Such peace was only found in the dark loneliness of night, deep understanding of the universe came from the emotional isolation of this setting, self-awareness from realizing that you are merely a speck in the wonderful place we call the universe.

Sixty-four minutes passed quickly. I looked forward to Astronomy on Thursday.

Wednesday morning was long with double Charms – where Bo helped me with my levitation spell so I was able to lift a feather – and double Transfiguration, where Theo and I were the only pair from different houses who shared a seat and tensions ran high between the Gryffindor Head of House and young, immature, ignorant Slytherins. However, I was quite proud to be the first to transform a quill fluff into a small pebble!

Following lunch, Theo and I spent another uneasy class with Professor Quirrel perfecting our basic defensive and offensive wand positions. Our second Potions class with Hufflepuff was next. After spending two days learning the most basic of basics, we were expected to make our first potion: the Boil Cure. Only Hermione's table was successful to Snape's standards, while Benji, Chris, Ernie and I mildly impressed him, and the table that Neville sat at desperately tried to save his cauldron which leaked a thick, black substance from the bottom.

The last class of the day was a repeat of Tuesday: ninety-six minutes of History of Magic, though this time I had the pleasure of sitting beside Benji, a better conversation partner than Theo. I forced him to the back of the class where I demonstrated my fluff-to-pebble abilities and he showed me how he had managed to levitate a quill!

Following dinner, a Spells Workshop began at 7:33. This was a 74 minute period once a week that was optional for first years except for this first week. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Quirrel were available in the Great Hall to assist us with spells homework and extra practice. Benji, Bo and I found a corner of the room near Professor Flitwick to practice our levitation abilities.

The next morning, we had our first Transfiguration class with Ravenclaw. Hermione quickly took a seat beside Bo, and I thought I would enjoy a seat alone until Pavarti asked if she could join me. I said sure, surprised that she wasn't sitting with Lavender or her sis–

"I don't think we've met. I'm Padma, Pavarti's sister."

Oh! "I'm Dally," I said.

"Oh yeah! It's, um, nice to meet you! Vata's told me a lot about you!" She seemed genuinely friendly, and we had a nice conversation throughout the class. She was quieter than her sister, definitely a Ravenclaw. I asked to see her wand, as I was curious about the clouded leopard pattern on it, and she was happy to oblige. I got the impression that she was open-minded like Pavarti, but also more pragmatic with her feet firmly on the ground. She was also very helpful with our feather transfiguration.

Charms with Hufflepuff was next, and we continued with our levitation. History of Magic with Ravenclaw was the most bothersome yet; sitting beside Hermione I had no opportunity to ignore the ghostly professor and was forced to sit at attention and actually listening to every monotone word.

Double Herbology with Slytherin sandwiched lunch; neither Professor Sprout nor Neville had warmed up to me. We weren't yet working with actual plants yet; we were still learning about tools, techniques, and the environment in general. I did not too bad with this, as Ellie Hudson had taught Benji and I about her garden. The Slytherins didn't show the professor or the class much respect.

Next was Astronomy Theory which Gryffindors had with Hufflepuff. The 35 and 96 minutes were combined and split, so we had Professor Sinistra for the first 66 minutes, and then the Ravenclaws and Slytherins came in for the next 65. We had a break before dinner. The next week, Slytherins and Ravenclaws would have class first and we would have a break after Herbology. We spent the class learning the planet and stars names. Later that night, during our second outdoor Astronomy class of the week, we were required to find and record the planets.

Finally, it was Friday! I began the day by planting seeds to a simple sunflower with Bo and Hermione in Herbology. A double period of D.A.D.A. with Benji by my side followed, where we were taught basic duelling stances and etiquette.

Charms with Slytherin came next and, in my seat alone, managed to levitate my quill to the ceiling! After lunch, I spent another enjoyable Transfiguration class with Padma before the last class of the week: Double Potions (131 minutes, our longest class of the week) with Slytherin.

* * *

"Are you going to try out for Quidditch, then?" I asked Theo. He had spent the past few minutes explaining his passion for the sport, and his skill as a Seeker. I hadn't known him long, but hadn't pegged him as the sporty type. I had never seen him excited about anything. 'Excited' probably wasn't the right word as he spoke with his same formal tone and wore his resting sad face; he seemed more mildly interested in the sport, but for him, this was the equivalent of Seamus' exuberant passion for the Irish National Team.

"No," he said.

…

…

…

"Why?"

"Draco."

"Ah."

Class was about to start, but only Theo and I were at our table. Three students were missing. A quick head count found that Pavarti, Lavender, and Pansy Parkinson were the missing. Snape stood at the door, in anticipation for their entry. We waited in silence for seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds (I counted), at which point all three girls rushed in out of breath. Pansy's hair, long and raven, was soaking wet, as were her robes. Pavarti and Lavender ran in laughing.

Snape was not impressed. "Twenty-five points from Gryffindor," he sneered down his long nose at the two small girls. "Next time, it will be twenty-five points each."

"But sir–" their small voices began only to be cut off by the professor.

"Take your seats," he said, striding to the front of the class and deciding to ignore them from now on. He now addressed the class. "You will try the Boil Cure Potion again, as the previous attempts this week have been miserable failures. I expect a perfect potion by the end of class, and fourteen inches explaining the flaws in your method this week at the start of next class. Begin."

Pavarti, Lavender and Pansy made their way to the vacant seats: Pansy went to the table with the Slytherin girls, and Pavarti and Lavender took the empty seats across from Theo and I. Rather, Pavarti dragged Lavender by the hand to our table. Lavender looked rather uncomfortable, but sat down out of fear of pissing off Professor Snape any further.

Brief formalities followed before we began our potion.

"So, Pavarti, Lavender," Theo said after a few minutes, "making new friends with Pansy?"

Lavender giggled a little. "Not exactly."

"Somebody put a sprinkling charm on this lantern in the stairs coming down here, and when she walked under it it started raining and pouring and she started screaming but the rain just followed her," Pavarti explained. "She bumped into some professor and it moved to him but he was able to turn it off. We watched the whole thing."

"And then we thought we'd help her dry off in the bathroom and we ended up late," Lavender finished.

"She didn't even say thank you!" Pavarti added, crushing some beetles as she spoke. Neither Theo nor I replied. He added Pavarti's beetles into the potion while I began to stir the concoction counterclockwise.

Pavarti and Lavender began a conversation about the newest _Youth Witch_ magazine, specifically the article that claimed that jade robes were the next thing in witch fashion. Apparently both of them were appalled by this suggestion. Lavender was partial to a deep purple or red-almost-brown-like-burgundy-maybe-or-no-maroon-yes-dark-maroon, as she described it. Pavarti didn't see the appeal of solid colour robes and wanted something with a little more colour, a little more flair, a little more pattern.

"What do you think, Dally?" Pavarti asked.

I know less about the latest fashion styles than the average house fly. My appearance didn't matter much to me. I guess if given a choice, I liked dark colours, and muggle clothes. I told them so. "I like black, dark blue, really dark purple maybe. But muggle clothes. Muggle clothes are more comfortable than robes."

Lavender and Pavarti tilted their heads, both deep in thought, until the former spoke. "Black dress, short, short sleeves, not too flowy and with a silver belt."

I was confused. "Sorry?"

"For you! You'd look good in that. Braid your hair and wrap it up with some silver extensions. It'd be nice," Lavender said. "What do you think, Theo?"

Theo looked up and said, deadpan: "I couldn't care less." He then returned to his potions book.

I shared his opinion, but would never be able to say that out loud. Pavarti and Lavender laughed a little and returned to their previous debate, giggling and whispering and holding hands and giggling some more. I looked at Theo and saw him staring at me, eyes wide in frustration.

Our potion turned out alright, though, and Professor Snape was a slightly less unpleasant version of himself when remarking his surprise at the high quality of our potion. This was relieving.

As we returned from his desk to start on our self-critical essays, Lavender thanked Theo for putting up with her lack of attention and gave him a big hug.

Theo slapped her away. She just laughed and said he would look good in red.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter and the life of a first year during a week at Hogwarts! If you're wondering, yes, I did make up a weekly schedule for Dally and the other Gryffindors (I had an eight-hour car ride and finished reading my book in three… I needed something to do!) Read on! And I would love comments, suggestions, reviews, anything! Hope you're liking the story :-)


	8. Superman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I don't have much to say here, except that, as always, I owe the wonderful Wizarding World and all its characters to one J.K. Rowling, and I own only the characters of my own creation. Enjoy!

**Superman**

* * *

 

_"Up, up and away, away from me_

_Well, it's alright_

_You can all sleep sound tonight_

_I'm not crazy or anything."_

_\- Superman_

* * *

The days passed slowly on this schedule, but weeks were over in a blur of unusual professors, failed spells and potions, ink blotches, a few successes, and awkward silences. I enjoyed my classes with Benji; we talked and laughed and were told to be quiet, but we did our work and did it well. In groups, he was the main conversationalist and he got along well with everyone. I usually stayed quiet, and unlike the others, he never persisted in his attempts to draw me out of my isolation bubble in these situations. Benji made more friends than I did. Of course he would! He was sociable and kind and funny and rarely serious. His hopeless optimism was noticed here, just like in the Downs, but this was a Hufflepuff quality which was appreciated. He liked being surrounded by people like him. But where other positive thinkers had hope and saw the _potential_ for goodness in all, he had only faith and saw _only_ goodness in all

Hermione was awful in History of Magic. I sat with her during the Ravenclaw classes. She demanded that the class pay attention, and would occasionally tap my hand when I began to daydream to bring me back to this unfortunate reality. She was nice enough, never rude or anything, just prim and proper and very insistent. She competed with Bo for answering the most questions, though I suspected that she was the only one who thought of it as a competition. In potions on Mondays, she became frustrated with Seamus who always tried to blow stuff up, but I noticed on Friday mornings in her Herbology group, she struggled; Herbology was more common sense than book smart stuff.

Theo was an interesting guy. I soon discovered that he didn't know how to lie, and wouldn't even try. He simply spoke his mind and didn't worry about offending others, especially during our potions classes with Pavarti and Lavender. Not that he was trying to be rude, he was just sort of tactless. He liked facts, not stories, and black and white, not grey. He enjoyed History for the reason. He didn't process emotion like most people, and never got embarrassed. He was unfazed by the uncomfortableness of our Herbology and D.A.D.A. classes together. His resting sad face represented most emotions for him; from sadness to happiness to apathy, which is what he experienced most of the time. The scarce occasions that he smiled or laughed were expressions of extreme joy. And he had the unusually rare quality of not caring about what others thought of him, though he did have many opinions of many people. He decided that there were few people he truly liked in the school, those people being me, Benji and Bo.

Bo was the complete opposite of Theo. He was always concerned about giving a good impression, and spoke tactfully. He was approachable and always willing to help. He wore a cheery smile and would always wave in the hallway. Hermione was smarter; he had probably read more, but couldn't execute properly. Spells were alright, because they were straightforward. Potions and Herbology were the bane of his existence. For the life of him, he could not figure out how to do something hands-on like that. Potions was more exacting than Herbology, but both required a certain amount of trial and error and intuition that you couldn't find in a book.

Neville was, to be frank, a disaster in every class except Herbology. He hadn't yet managed to Transfigure anything, but had lifted a feather a few inches up in Charms. Potions was the worst. Snape scared the young boy, who already had a complete lack of affinity for potions. By the end of the month, Neville was on his third cauldron. And he still had yet to talk to me in Herbology, though he had managed to converse a little with Theo.

Lavender had not warmed up to me yet. She and Pavarti were quite close and they spent most nights spread out on our dorm floor with various magazines and candies. Hermione spent her free time in the library, and would return to our dorm just before curfew, where she would read textbooks or do homework while occasionally shushing the two girls when it got too loud. After a week, I had proposed to Chris my theory that it would be possible to make a perch above the four-poster beds. She seemed intrigued by the idea and, with some help from the mischievous Weasley twins, her older sister, and a very tall seventh-year girl, managed to get five large pieces of wood secured on top of the beds. Together, we piled blankets and pillows on each of them and made the little perches quite comfortable. Hermione was unimpressed. Chris spited this by spending all of her time above her bed, occasionally sleeping there. We had to be in our rooms by 10:30 p.m., and she would spend the time before she slept drawing. She was good, and told me that she was actually competing with Dean Thomas, who was also an amateur artist. I kept the drawing she did of me, sketched all in black and white except the yellow and red tie around my head. Something was a little unnerving about it, but I kept it as a gesture of kindness and appreciation.

I spent my time reading. I had finished _Swiss Family Robinson_ long ago and had gone though _Oliver Twist_ , _Frankenstein_ , and several Sherlock Holmes stories. Lavender was bothered by my muggle reading, and was constantly on edge whenever we were alone in the room together. She never said anything, but I always felt her eyes on me. She didn't get along with Hermione much, either. They had very different _study styles_ , I'll say. They were two extremes on a scale of studiousness, and neither appreciated the other very much. Still, Lavender tensed up whenever I talked to Hermione, became nervous whenever the subjects of muggles or family came up.

The one thing we all had in common was our hatred for the clock. Soon, we learned to be careful about asking the time, for fear of hearing the awful screech of: "TEN FIFTY-SEVEN! TEN FIFTY-SEVEN!" Even worse was the time that Chris awoke everyone in the middle of the night when returning from the washroom, and Hermione groggily asked what time it was. "TWO THIRTY-FOUR! TWO THIRTY-FOUR!" We affectionately named her Cathy, which stood for the Crazy Angry Timekeeper from Hell that Yells, and made sure that we were awake before 7:30 every morning to prevent a violent awakening.

Overall, our dorm was not an unpleasant or uncomfortable place to be. We were friendly, civil, and even laughed with each other from time to time. But the issue remained: I was Lestrange, and this was a Gryffindor dorm with an oblivious muggle-born.

* * *

I had never flown before.

I was terrified of it. There was nothing to support you, way up in the air, except a thin stick with some more smaller sticks on the end. Honestly, those big flying tin cans than muggles called airplanes seemed safer than a broomstick. And Quidditch? One must be a lunatic to enjoy playing the sport.

As first years, we had the unfortunate pleasure of learning the basics of flying. The fourth Wednesday of school, we were taken out of Charms and Transfiguration in the morning and placed on a nice grassy area outside the school. All the first years were lined up according to house in two rows, standing beside a broom on the ground, while a tall athletic woman walked up and down the spaces between us. We would call her Madam Hooch, she told us, and she was the Head of Quidditch at Hogwarts. Riding a broom was simple, easy, she said! Just hold on tight and don't slide off the end, she said!

I really didn't want to do this.

"Dally," Seamus, who stood beside me, whispered. "Dally! Are you alright?"

"Fine, Seamus. Just never flown before," I replied.

"Oh, me neither! Me mum didn't think it was safe! I told her: 'Don' worry mum, I'll fly over the grass so's when I fall it won't hurt a bit!' but she didn't let me. I tried to go out a few times on mum's broom but she caught me and had t' hide it again!" Seamus informed me. He was quite enthused by this new opportunity and lack of a meddling parental figure.

Madam Hooch informed us that to start, we must command our wands to come to us. Yell "up!"

"Up," I said cautiously.

The monosyllabic word echoed among the students and I thought the sound was reminiscent of a pack of seagulls honking. The first successful student was Harry Potter, much to Draco's disappointment and irritation. Theo was the next to "pick up" the broom. Other students commanded their brooms too forcefully and ended up hitting themselves in the head with the broom. Hermione and Bo were both struggling, as was Neville. Benji was successful, and so were Chris, Seamus, Ernie MacMillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas, Pavarti and Padma, Draco, Blaise Zabini, and Terry Boot.

Madam Hooch came up to me and said encouragingly: "Come on, girl! Use your voice! Command your broom!"

"Up," I said in the same fragile voice. This time it actually worked, which was unfortunate (although it did get Madam Hooch off my back).

"Now, mount your brooms everyone. We're going to kick off and lift up just a few feet. Alright? Everyone ready? One, two, three!" Madam Hooch yelled.

Everyone kicked off. I floated just a foot above the ground, while most levitated four, five, six feet up! I had to admit that it was an interesting feeling; nothing supporting you but a thin piece of wood and powerful magic. I still wouldn't want to go much higher up.

Someone did, though, and as they rose higher and higher everyone laughed and Madam Hooch yelled: "Get back down here! Come down now!"

"I can't ma'am! I don't know what I did!" A small voice yelled fearfully. That was Neville's voice! He rose up like a balloon, then looked down and screamed. The action of looking down caused him to tilt his body to the right, which propelled and accelerated his broom towards the wall. He put his arm out to protect himself and with a terribly loud crack hit the rock wall then plummeted, down, down, down, gravity pulling him faster and faster until he collapsed in a pained pile of boy, stone, stick and blood.

A collective gasp rushed through the young crowd, along with a few cruel snickers from the Slytherins. Instinctively I jumped off my broom and ran towards the young boy who as of yet had not moved. Benji was right behind me, and Madam Hooch, after ensuring everyone else was safely on the ground, was next.

"Neville, it's Dally. Can you hear me?" I said softly, kneeling beside hime. "Neville, open your eyes." He groaned and turned his head a little bit, but didn't open his eyes. He had a nasty gash on his forehead, and his wrist has twisted at an ugly angle. "Neville, Neville keep your head still. Benji, hold his head. Neville, I'm just going to feel your neck." I reached under his neck and with two fingers probed his spine. I felt his shoulders and ribs and abdomen and felt nothing concerning. "Neville," I asked, "where does it hurt?"

"My wrist," he whispered. "And my head."

"What about your legs? Can you feel this? Wiggle your toes for me,"I said, grabbed the tip of his shoe and felt his topes wriggle inside.

"I can feel that," said Neville, his eyes still tightly shut.

"Okay Mr. Longbottom, we're going to bring you to Madam Pomfrey," said Madam Hooch, who was leaning over us cautiously watching my actions. She directed her next line towards me. "He is safe to move?"

I didn't really know. I mean, I'd never ever had any sort of training. I was just doing what felt right. It just sort of came to me in the moment, and I couldn't tell you how I knew any of it. "I think so," I said. "We'll move him slowly. Benji, grab his arm, and I'll take the hurt one." I leaned in a bit to Neville. "Neville, can you sit up? We're hear to keep you up, don't worry. Whenever you're ready."

A few seconds passed and then Neville pushed himself up with his healthy arm and Benji's help. We held him for a few seconds longer before helping him to stand. He wobbled a little and leaned on the much taller Benji for support. His arm looked awful just hanging like that and I knew it needed to be supported by something. While Madam Hooch ordered the rest of the class to stay put, firmly on the ground, I unwrapped the tie from my hair and quickly made a small sling to support Neville's arm. He quivered a little bit as I wrapped the tie behind his neck.

"Alright, let's move along now. Quickly, quickly," ushered Madam Hooch. Benji, still holding Neville's uninjured arm, gently led him towards the castle. Blood dripped from the gash on Neville's forehead and into his eyes. I thought about pulling out my wand, hoping for something like what I did to Rohesia to happen, but decided against it as I wouldn't really know what I was doing. We were inside now and Madam Hooch stopped abruptly, nearly causing us three students to crash into her.

"I'm going to find the Headmaster," she said, "and notify him of the Mr. Longbottom's accident. The Hospital Wing is that way –" she pointed, "third left, and then up the stairs on the right, cross under the clock, and then down those stairs and past the Great Hall. Then take two lefts right away and then one more right at the painting of Gaffric the Grumpy and then it's just straight ahead." She looked at three bewildered faces and said: "Got it? Good. Feel better, Mr. Longbottom." Then she was off, in the opposite direction than we were instructed to go.

We watched her walk away and turn a corner. There was nobody else in our sight, and the faint voices of our fellow first years could barely be heard from outside. My eyes met Benji's, who seemed just as confused as me. Despite that, Benji sighed and said: "Shall we?"

I nodded and slowly, we turned, leading Neville towards the infirmary. We walked without words, three sets of slow shuffling steps providing the only sound in the empty corridors. Neville was still leaning on Benji for support, and was gradually shifting away from me. I obliged his silent request for separation and increased the space between us several inches more.

We found ourselves crossing under the clock, indicating that we were on the right path. I didn't remember even seeing an infirmary on the map we had been provided with at the start of the year, although I suppose it made sense that there would be one, what with the caustic potions and biting plants and other such magical mishaps that happened within these walls.

Walking up the second set of stairs of our journey, Benji decided to strike up conversation. "So, Neville, right? I don't think we've met before. I'm Benji. Benji Hudson."

"Hi," Neville said quietly. We were at the top of the stairs now.

"And Dally's in your house so you'd know her. We're from Ireland, the both of us. Collic's Downs. I'm a muggle, so mum and I were right shocked to get that letter! Dally probably wasn't. Her parents–" he stopped abruptly, not just talking but walking as well, suddenly realizing the subject matter and who the other half of his conversation was. Neville nearly fell over. I reached out to catch him but he backed away. His face, previously pale in fright, was now flushed red in anger.

Benji's face was twisted in shock, empathy, and horror. Neville stared straight ahead, his eyes, dark, round and perpetually sad, filling with tears and blood that was still dripping from his forehead.

"Neville," I said softly, but I had nothing to follow. What exactly does one say in a situation like that? _I'm really sorry my parents tortured your parents to insanity, but I'm not like that, really. Even though I look like her, I promise._

"I'll get there myself," Neville said surely, wiping his eyes with his healthy arm. He began to walk quickly with his head down and his hand balled into a fist.

 _"I'm sorry,"_ Benji mouthed to me.

I ran after Neville calling his name but he didn't turn. Catching up to him, I stepped in front of him and forced him to stop. His eyes met mine, a glimmer of defiance present in the mix of sad and angst.

"Neville, I… I am… I'm not…" My mouth snapped shut. Of course he had to know that I wasn't my parents. I wouldn't be in Gryffindor or friends with Benji or reading muggle books if I was. But that fact wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't change the past. The truth hurt brutally. While his parents had their physical freedom and mine were locked up in for eternity, Bellatrix was free of mind and Frank and Alice were dead inside.

"It's not fair," I whispered. "It's not." A single tear fell down Neville's face, mixed with a drop of blood. "I hate it. I hate it all so much." I paused, and continued, my voice cracking slightly: "I'm sorry."

Neville looked up. His face was still red, but the anger had receded from his eyes. Just despair clouded his chestnut orbs. "Not your fault," he sniffed.

There it was. None of it was my fault. The deaths and tortures and suffering and all the lives ruined; none of it was me. Most of it was before I was born. What was I supposed to do about it? But was that cold and callous and insensitive? And why did I feel so guilty? It wasn't my fault! God, I looked like her. I hated her and them and all of this! Why should I be this generation's target of hatred? But why not? They need someone physical to hate, instead of directing their anger towards someone in Azkaban who will never hear it. Should I carry the guilt that I know my parents don't? Should I be dying in the hell that they are? Should I–

 _No._ The word invaded my thoughts suddenly, shaking me from a moment of internal panic and terror.

Nothing was said for a minute, until Benji whispered softly: "Neville, let's get you to the nurse."

Neville nodded sullenly and resumed his intense study of the ground. Benji stepped up to him and guided him by his uninjured arm. I followed a few paces behind them. The walk was uncomfortable and awkward; while Benji felt horrible for being the trigger of the emotional artillery, Neville's physical pain was heightened by the confusion he felt. I, meanwhile, suffered from a continuation of intense dislike for myself.

We didn't speak; the jumbled mess of memories and preconceptions, feelings and thoughts that hung over our trio of heads was ineffable. Some things that break can never be fixed. I had a feeling that Neville's heart was one of them.

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey was a rather impressive woman.

Not in demeanour nor medical abilities nor appearance, for though she was forceful in instructions, a superb healer, and not necessarily unattractive, she was rather shy, a little flustered, and not necessarily attractive.

Rather, Madam Pomfrey was impressive because of her complete possession of several much-desired qualities: tact, grace, integrity, and pragmatism. When we arrived in her wing—Neville bloodied and red-faced, Benji still pale in embarrassment, and myself, I would suppose, looking deep in agitated thought—it was clear that there was tension between that did not wish to relieve itself at the moment. Madam Pomfrey politely ignored Benji and I, leading Neville to a bed. We stood at the foot, watching in silence.

In the next bed was an older Slytherin boy whose face was covered in a thick bandage. "Oh, did the little Gryffindor hurt himself?" he sneered, his voice indicating he was in pain.

"Mr. Flint, you will do well to stop exercising your facial muscles. It slows the healing process," Madam Pomfrey said briskly. She set to work on Neville's arm after cleaning his face of blood.

Benji and I glanced at one another briefly; how long were we supposed to stay? We waited ten minutes while Madam Pomfrey worked, quickly, efficiently, at setting Neville's arm, cleaning his wound, and asking him questions. She gave him a bright pink potion, thin and bubbling, and another darker, thicker potion. The first, she explained, was to help him sleep while the second would accelerate his healing. Soon, he was oblivious to the world and, I hoped, in happy dreams.

Madam Pomfrey turned to us, not exactly surprised that we were still there, but startled. I think she may have been so absorbed by her work that she had forgotten that we brought Neville in. She acknowledged us with a quick nod indicating we were to follow her. For the first time, I took in the rest of the wing.

When I had passed this area from the outside, I had thought that it wouldn't be very big, with only enough room for a few beds. The room must have had some sort of expanding charm on it, for two rows of fifteen beds each lined the walls which wore clear windows, no stained glass. Each bed had a nightstand, a foot-table, and curtains that wrapped around it. The lighting was calming—warm and comfortable—yet the exact origin of the light was unapparent. The wing was clean and tidy, much like any hospital, but something was there. Faint touches of a loving mother were noticeable in the floral arrangements hung over the beds like mobiles, the pile of clean yet well-loved stuffed animals in the corner, the dishes of candy at each patient's bedside. These things I could just sense; Madam Pomfrey, for all her impressive coolness and pragmatism, was most certainly a loving woman and almost definitely a wonderful mother.

Madam Pomfrey had an office, just to the left of the main entrance, which she led us to. In this office was an old, elegant desk, neatly organized with everything precisely laid out. Stacks of papers taller than Benji stood, each page perfectly in line, behind her desk proudly as a testament to the mediwitch's medical prowess, records of hundreds of students healed over many years. Her office walls were shelved with potions, bandages, splints, and blankets, and various jars and things that I didn't recognize. A big door in the back office led to, I suspected, her dormitory.

She took a seat at her desk, balanced thick glasses on the end of her nose, and removed a quill from a little cup on her desk. On a piece of paper, she began writing. It wasn't formal paperwork; I expected that's what Madam Hooch was doing. This witch was just writing freely, likely describing in detail Neville's injuries and treatments and such. She wrote until nearly half of the page was covered in tiny, precise script.

Finally, she looked up at the pair of us, a slight frown of confusion though not scolding, on her face. "How did you determine it was acceptable to move the boy?"

I cleared my throat and whispered nervously: "Well, I checked his neck and his back and his eyes seemed alright."

"Alright?" She asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, I mean, I didn't feel anything wrong with his neck, and other than all the blood in his eyes he was seeing just fine. He knew his name, so that's good," I said. I didn't really have much of an answer.

Madam Pomfrey nodded satisfactorily and carefully wrote some more. She glanced up again. "And do you have any medical training? Either of you?"

Benji and I shook our heads. Madam Pomfrey nodded thoughtfully, then asked our names.

"Benji, ma'am. Benji Hudson."

"Dally," I said, simply.

Madam Pomfrey's mouth widened in a little smile while her eyes brightened up. "Lestrange?" I nodded. "Hmm, very interesting." Her smile grew and an expression of inner reflection crossed her face. "What is your wand, dear?"

I wasn't expecting this, but cautiously pulled it from my hair. "Acacia wood. Bare-fronted hoodwink core. Eight inches, very flexible."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes, I noticed had not left the messy bun on top of my head where I stored my wand. I hastily put it back.

_Just like Bella._

"Do you have an interest in healing, Miss Lestrange?"

"I dunno," I said, shrugging. "I hadn't thought of it much. Mr. Ollivander said my wand'd be good for that, though."

"Mmm," Madam Pomfrey nodded. She turned back to her page and continued writing. Benji turned his head towards me, his brows raised over wide and confused cyan eyes, which briefly met my dark ones, just as bamboozled as him.

Madam Pomfrey scratched her tiny font with expert precision, her hand hardly moving as she wrote with the short yet elegant strokes of a smooth quill, black as coal, just like Vito's feathers. We waited, with only the sounds of the scratching quill and the occasional groans of Mr. Flint.

This entire experience had been rather perplexing, from Neville's initial failed flight to our unfortunate emotional outing and now, to this confusing woman who certainly had her priorities set out, but didn't bother to explain to the rest of us. My mind felt muddled; I think the hospital scent and the lighting were making me sleepy. I wondered if she had put a charm on the wing to put her patients at ease.

Finally, the mediwitch signed the page, rather simply with little flourish or extravagance, and added it to the top of the smallest, though certainly not small, stack of papers. She removed the thick glasses that had shielded her hazel eyes.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Hudson, Miss Lestrange. Mr. Longbottom should remain here over night, but I plan to release him mid-day tomorrow, if you would like to retrieve him," she said, politely yet very obviously ushering us towards the door. She was not much taller than Benji, slight like me, with blond-grey hair; it was difficult to put an age on her, for though she looked to be a little over forty, she carried with her a perpetual air of undying alertness and youth. "You may retrieve your tie then, too, Miss Lestrange. I'll have the house elves wash it. Mr. Longbottom informed me it was yours that provided his sling."

I was about to thank her, but she continued on: "And, if you ever think you may be interested in healing, do come see me. Not many show proficiency at such a young age," said said knowingly. I nodded politely but didn't respond verbally. I left that to Benji.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. Have a splendid day!"

I wished her well in my own quiet, awkward way, and she bid us the same.

And I repeat: Madam Pomfrey was an impressive woman. Impressive for her healing, her subtly, and for having the unusual quality of confusing one to the point where they didn't know exactly what they were confused about.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! I hope the time between updates won't be so long. My classes aren't too bad but I have a lot of other stuff going on (eg. new job!). I hope to develop Madam Pomfrey more throughout my story. There wasn't much about her in the books, so I thought I could play around with her character a little!
> 
> I'm having a lot of fun writing and would love any comments, suggestions, or reviews for the future! Thank you for reading!


	9. Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope that if you've read this far you're enjoying the story! And guess what? I still own nothing but that which I have created!  
> Enjoy :)

**Reflection**

* * *

 

_"Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?_

_Why is my reflection someone I don't know?_

_Somehow I cannot hide who I am, though I've tried._

_When will my reflection show who I am inside?"_

_\- Reflection, Mulan_

* * *

"If you three walk any slower we won't get there before exams," Theo huffed. The three he referred to with such annoyance were Benji, Bo and me. The "there" was unknown to us. Theo only said that it was a quiet place that not many knew about, one his brother told him of.

The reason for our slowness was an unfortunate event that took place in Bo and Theo's Charms last class; as a result of this unfortunate event, several Slytherins no longer had eyebrows. Bo was in the process of explaining to us how Crabbe was trying to levitate a feather and pulled off an explosion worthy of Seamus Finnigan's envy, and he, Bo, was doubled over laughing as he tried to describe Malfoy's browless face.

It was a Wednesday, just a week after Neville's accident. His wrist was still sore—I could tell when he tried to write—but his head wound had healed up nicely and my tie, no longer blood-stained, was back in its rightful place around my temples. It was 6:15 now. We had eaten dinner quickly and changed into regular clothing so Theo could bring us to this spot. The professors were running their weekly spells workshop later that evening, but none of us were planning on attending.

We now found ourselves on stone-structured path reminiscent of pictures Benji had shown me of the Great Wall of China. It turned and twisted a little as is slowly declined, going down to the Lake. I suddenly remembered seeing this bridge from a much different view; we had seen it when we first arrived at Hogwarts by boat!

The view here was magnificent. White-tipped waves in the Black Lake stood out like stars against a night sky. The gorgeous green mountains looked youthful and free, though they were doubtless thousands of years old and trapped by their own immense weight.

We were almost at the water now. The castle stood proud above, magnificently announcing to all that we, the inferiors, could never hold as much history, knowledge, thoughts, secrets, as she. It was true. Leaving the school, one felt a great weight lifted from their mind; it wasn't a necessarily unpleasant weight, but it was always there. The weight of years and lives passed, the weight of love and loss and discovery, the weight of the invisible, the intangible, the impossible. There was a spirit of youth, of life, of learning in this castle that seemed to invade the mind of all who entered. Even so far below it, one could feel a tug to their own creativity, curiosity, and thirst for understanding. It was a strange effect.

Finally, we reached a long set of stairs, which after several minutes of descent led us to a lookout, closed in by thick rock walls. It was a large space with a few little tables, covered in dust and cobwebs. Clearly this area had not seen people for a while. We were a few rocky metres above the Lake. Waves threw themselves against the cliff face, splashing higher and higher each time, as if their primary goal was to reach and consume us. We all stopped and took in the unusual view. Cliff walls were on both sides and behind us, tunnelling our vision and forcing all focus on one mountain in particular. The castle was no longer visible.

"Is this it?" Benji asked.

Theo shook his head. "No."

He turned and grabbed one of the little chairs from one of the little tables, dragging it to the corner of the lookout where the rock wall met the cliff. He stepped up on it looked at us, and jumped over the wall.

"Theo!" Bo yelled, running to the spot where the boy had disappeared from. Benji and I followed. Thoughts raced through my head: neck or back broken, need Skele-Gro, levitate, possible concussion…

We three looked over the edge and saw Theo, standing a metre below us on solid ground, several feet from the edge, smirking up at us. Bo let out a huge sigh of relief, while Benji looked more angry at Theo for scaring us. I wondered if we were supposed to jump as well.

Theo, after assuring us he was indeed okay, began poking around the large stone bricks with his wand. _Three from cliff, four up–_ one, two, three, four, five, six, seven taps– _up one, left two–_ one tap, pause, one, two taps– _five left, one down–_ hold for five seconds. Suddenly, the stones began to grow outwards, extending out from the wall and pushing Theo back. He stepped to the side as six steps appeared and a small railing popped out from them. The sound was quieter than expected; a soft humming rather than a loud grinding.

When the stones stopped moving, none of us moved for several moments. Theo looked at us expectantly and gestured impatiently. "Well come on!"

Bo, Benji, and I glanced at one another cautiously. My curiosity got the best of me first and I climbed up onto the chair. Benji and Bo offered me their hands (which I politely declined) as I stepped from the chair to the wall's edge. Standing on this wall, I had an intense appreciation and fear for how high up we really were. I was walking down to a dirt ledge, six feet wide, but off that edge was a sheer and tall drop. I reached the bottom of the newly grown staircase and looked up in anticipation at Benji and Bo. In less than a minute, both were down and Theo was again tap, tap, tapping away at the stone wall. The stairs collapsed back into the wall, leaving not even a disruption in the dirt to indicate it had been there.

I was confused, but not how I usually am. Confusion, for me, is usually catalyzed by the presence of other people. Their actions, their words, their looks all jumble my mind and make thought difficult. This confusion, though, was purely my own ignorance of the situation. It was a welcome change from the heavy weight of other people on my mind.

Theo walked, silently, around the front of the wall. The ledge here was smaller, maybe three feet. Suddenly, the dark and violent waves, the aggressive juts and ridges of the cliff, the great height at which we were at– they all brought me back to a memory. _All I see is falling, down, down, down a cliff, a fall that should have killed him many times over. Flailing arms, legs kicking, and a desperate plea for help in his eyes as he plummeted to the ocean below where the waves would end his life._ And the terror and anger and confusion began to set in once again. I didn't even know his name.

A quiet scream shook me from this dark place; I don't know which of the three boys it was–and I doubt any of them would ever admit it–but one of them was apparently terrified of a small black bird…

"Vito!" I said as my feathery companion landed on my shoulder. I had only been to the Owlery once, but Vito came to visit me in my dorm often. Lavender wasn't fond of him, but Hermione, the only one of us who knew what _The Godfather_ was, found his name quite humorous.

Benji knew Vito, but it occurred to me that the others did not. "This is Vito," I explained. "His full name's The Godfeather. I guess it's a muggle thing. Rohesia got him for me in a bet."

"He's small," Bo noted, "even for a barn owl. I don't think I've ever seen a black owl."

"Yeah, Vito's a little… different," I said, as he pecked at my wand, tucked up snugly in my hair. Then, I noticed he had a small piece of paper tied to his leg.

"Read it in a minute," Theo said, frustrated by all the delays we had thus presented him with. He turned and continued along this thin ledge.

We followed him carefully, Vito choosing to ride on my shoulder instead of actually acting like a bird and flying. We reached another cliff wall, and Theo bent down to carefully inspect an unassuming shrub. He then grabbed it from the bottom and yanked it up, taking out a perfectly square section of dirt; no root system was visible. Revealed was an opening, large enough for an average person to fit through, dark, deep, and with a rickety ladder.

"Who's first?" Theo asked, cheerful in his own way. When none of us answered he said: "Fine, I'll go. Whoever's last, put the plant back. It's kind of sensitive about it's spot, I've heard." He respectfully placed the shrub on the ground and carefully began to descend into the black depth.

Benji followed next, then myself with Vito, and finally Bo. Upon reaching the bottom, down a total of 15 ladder rungs spaced an uncomfortably far distance apart, we stood in silent blackness. Benji whispered to me: "I'm now quite certain that Theo is going to murder us."

"Relax, Benji! If I were to murder someone, it wouldn't be you three. Wait one second while I find–" bang, crash, and a yelp of pain, "the stove." He fiddled with something or other, matches or magic, and the fire in the stove was lit. Subsequently, twenty or so torches sparked to life, illuminating every corner of what had turned out to be a small, well-furnished room. Dark couches, thick rugs, a bookshelf, and an elegant coffee-table made this windowless room feel cozy and safe.

"My brother told me about this place," Theo explained. "I guess some students back in the seventeenth century made it. They were really smart and put an unknowable spell or something on it so only one group of students every seven years could know about it. Franklin graduated last year, and told me about it." He smirked a little: "I can't imagine what him and Dad will think when I inform them who exactly I've brought here."

Bo glanced around. "This place is awesome! And no one but us knows about it?" He crashed on one couch. "I claim this spot," he said. Clearly, he chose it because of its proximity to the bookshelf. "Arrange yourselves accordingly." Benji snorted and took a spot across from Bo on the opposite couch. I joined him on the other end, while Theo chose the only armchair.

"Thanks for bringing us here, Theo," Benji said. Bo and I agreed and thanked him gratefully. Vito hooted softly. I can imagine that Theo had spent many hours deciding whether or not to show us this place; being a loner in our school society, he likely enjoyed the solitude and privacy this room afforded. I know I would.

"My pleasure," Theo said cordially. His tone switched to dry sarcasm: "Now open your letter, Dally. What does dear Aunt Rohesia have to say?"

It hadn't even occurred to me in the past few weeks to send Rohesia or Xavier a letter, and I would never have thought that they might send me one. But upon Theo's remark, I realized that there wouldn't be anyone else to send me something. Gently, I took the letter from Vito's foot and unravelled it. Sure enough, it was from dear Aunt Rohesia. I read aloud to Benji, Bo, and Theo:

_Dear Dalaria,_

_I suppose that in your first few weeks at Hogwarts, you have become quiet busy and possibly overwhelmed by the immense responsibility of being a student of magic. I remember my first days at Hogwarts as being full of new adventure and excitement. I can completely understand if all of this next excitement has caused us to slip your mind, and I decided to take the initiative to reach out to you._

_How are you, Dalaria? Narcissa wrote me in September, telling me about a letter she had from Draco the very first. Much of the details were about your cousin, but she did mention that you had been sorted into the House of Gryffindor. Your uncle and I thought perhaps you might be ashamed or worried about our reaction to this news; I can say that while this is certainly unexpected, we hope that you will make the Lestrange and Rastrick names proud._

_I trust you are making smart decisions in selecting your companions. The Hudson girl came by and mentioned that her boy is also attending Hogwarts. I understand that you were acquaintances, but seeing as you now have a wider array of suitable candidates, we, that is, Xavier and I would like to suggest that you reconsider this friendship. His mother is an insufferable woman-_

I saw Benji tense in the corner of my eye. I continued.

_I can only imagine her son is the same. Your cousin is keeping company with the young Misters Crabbe and Goyle I believe; their families are reputable and quite lovely. Perhaps you would consider keeping company with them as well. I know you aren't fond of Draco, but I am sure he is quite delightful. He's much like his father._

_Who are your roommates? I trust you are getting along well. And what of your classes? I was always fond of Divination, though I believe you will not take that until your third year. Hogwarts is rather lovely this time of year. Have the Quidditch matches begun?_

_Your uncle has been travelling through the Balkans, conducting interviews for his work. Cyrus has gone with him, so I am alone at Rastrick House. I am planning on visiting my family near Glasgow for several weeks before Xavier returns. If you plan on replying to this letter, ensure that Vito knows where he is going._

_Dalaria, I sincerely wish you all the best in your first year at Hogwarts. Your uncle and I look forward to hearing from you. Narcissa and Lucius insist on having you at the Manor for Christmas; I hope you won't refuse._

_I will be anxiously expecting your reply. Have a splendid term._

_Regards,_

_Rohesia_

The letter teemed with sickly sweet sentiment, shrouded in false concern and barely hiding her quiet rage.

"Well she sounds… pleasant," Bo said.

Benji was chuckling a little on the other side of the couch. Theo, who had frowned during my entire reading of the letter, turned to him and inquired as to what he found so humorous.

"She called Crabbe- Crabbe and G-G-Goyle-" he broke into a fit of laughter and could barely get the rest out: "lovely _!_ _Quite_ lovely in fact! The lovely Mr. Crabbe, the lovely Mr. Goyle!"

I started laughing with him, and soon Bo joined in. Even Theo chuckled a little. It was a situation unlike any one I had been in before; laughing uncontrollably, barely able to breathe, with each of us alternatively adding something that only made everything funnier; what a wonderful state to be in.

* * *

That evening, the fragile foundation of hidden truths upon which the peace of our dorm stood imploded.

Benji, Bo, Theo, and I had spent several hours in the little getaway, talking and laughing, and I arrived back at Gryffindor Tower barely before curfew. I had a little Herbology homework, which I completed just before eleven. My roommates were still up, enjoying their usual hobbies; Chris had some coloured pencils and paper, Lavender and Pavarti were spread out on the floor with several magazines, and Hermione was intently studying a thick textbook. She was frowning and flipping, scanning the pages quickly. I myself was getting comfortable with Wells' _The Time Machine_ , a favourite of Benji's.

"Excuse me," Hermione said, timidly. We looked up, all surprised. Hermione rarely talked once she got into a book. "Can I ask a question?"

"Sure, Hermione," Pavarti said, turning to face her, cross-legged. "What's up?"

"Well, I have this dictionary here, a wizarding dictionary," Hermione began, "since, as you know, I am muggle-born and there are certain terms and such that are unfamiliar." The "unfamiliar" was clearly painful for her to say; it was hard for her to admit she didn't know something.

"And?" Chris prodded, after Hermione had gone silent for a few seconds.

"I heard a few students earlier today mention a word that I didn't know, but when I went to look it up, it wasn't in here. Could you explain it to me?"

We nodded.

Hermione breathed out in relief. "Thanks. So the word was 'mudblood.' What does that mean?"

A lot could have been inferred about our characters from the way that Chris, Lavender, Pavarti, and I each reacted. Chris jumped down from her little perch, her drawing of what looked like the Hogwarts castle falling to the floor, anger flaring in her eyes and ready to pummel the ones to whom that word had belonged that day. Pavarti crawled up onto Hermione's bed with the look of a mother about to tell her child a sad reality. Lavender didn't move; she sat on the floor, wide-eyed in shock and horror. As for myself, I cautiously followed Pavarti's lead, sitting on the foot of her bed.

"Hermione," Pavarti said slowly, "who said that?"

Hermione, her face confused and shocked at our unusual reactions, said carefully: "It was a Slytherin boy. Malfoy, I think. Draco Malfoy."

"Of course," said Lavender.

"Bastard," Chris and I said in unison.

"What? What's wrong?" Hermione asked. The silence was awkward and uncomfortable for a few moments when I began to speak. Like "ripping off a Band-Aid," as the muggle idiom goes, I decided to just go for it.

"It's a really, really bad word," I said, "a slur for muggle-borns. Some… people… have, um, issues, with muggles."

I couldn't describe the look on her face. It was pain and anger and fear and embarrassment all rolled up into one pitiful expression. Her eyes started to water a little, but, blinking quickly, she held the tears back. Pavarti was holding her hand; Chris's eyes were still blazing; and Lavender's silent shock now turned to vocal anger.

"Yeah," she snorted," _some_ people. Worst ones on Earth if you ask me," she said knowingly. Pavarti threw a magazine at her to shut her up, but Lavender continued. " _Some_ people really are just horrible people, you know. I can't imagine what sort of family is just so awful to other people."

"Lavender," Pavarti whispered sternly.

Hermione sniffed. "What? What are you talking about?" I turned towards Lavender, silently pleading with her not to out me, not now. As it turns out, it was Chris I should have been pleading with.

"Dally's family, they're killers," she burst out with, then suddenly realizing the consequences of her words, clapped her hands over her mouth. An impulsive girl, she probably had no malicious or hateful intentions with her words; the pressure of the secrets had just gotten to her. Who was I to blame her? She was right, after all.

Still, my mouth dropped slightly and collectively, we gasped.

"Wh–What?" Hermione whimpered, drawing back from me. Pavarti threw Chris a stern look and then turned to me, shocked.

"Oh– Oh my god," Chris said slowly, coming to terms with her words. "Dally, I, I am so, so, sorry. I didn't- I mean, I know you're– you're not– you hate–"

"Chris, stop!" Lavender groaned.

"What is she talking about, Dally?" Hermione asked accusingly, tears now falling down her face. This was an inescapable hell. The words fell out of my mouth, stabbing and hurting and harsh. Not one of my roommates interrupted me as I told the story:

"Before we were all born, there were some real bad people. Death Eaters, they were called. They were the Dark Lord's followers. That's You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, whatever you want to call him. My mum, my dad, they… they were Death Eaters. They're awful people, Hermione, some of the worst on Earth. The Dark Lord, he wanted all the power and hated muggles and wanted to, to get rid of all of them, especially muggle-born witches and wizards. My dad, Rab- Rabastan, he wasn't a stellar Death Eater or anything, just your average evil I guess, if you can say that. But Bella, my mom, Bellatrix… she… she's different. She's worse. She's evil, real evil. Psychopath, sociopath, however you want to say it. She just likes to hurt, likes the blood. I… I look a lot like her. The eyes and hair, I guess. They're all Slytherins. Not that all Slytherins are bad, it's just… yeah."

I took a deep breath, shakily.

"Bellatrix and Rabastan and a few others, after the Dark Lord fell–you know, and Harry Potter survived?–they went to the Longbottoms'. Neville's parents. They were Aurors. My parents… my mother… tortured them really bad. They all went to Azkaban. Most of the Death Eaters did. Not all. I wasn't quite two yet. They sent me to live with my aunt and uncle, Xavier and Rohesia–Rohesia's my dad's sister–and my cousin Cyrus in Collic's Downs."

I paused again, taking in the faces around me: Hermione's covered in an intricate lacelike pattern of tears; Lavender's conflicted by contempt and sympathy; Chris, confused; and Pavarti, her expression shrouded in so many emotions it was unreadable.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I had nothing else to say, so I sat back down on my bed.

No other words were spoken between us that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a small reference to one of my favourite quotes in this chapter:
> 
> "The positive thinker sees the invisible, feels the intangible, and achieves the impossible." - Winston Churchill
> 
> And yes, I realize the whole "Mudblood" thing came up in Chamber of Secrets, but I felt that the tension between the roommates needed to be brought up somehow and this seemed appropriate.


	10. Stand By Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! Would you believe I started writing this just after the new year started, wrote about 4000 words, and then completely forgot about it? Well, that's what happened! I'm travelling this week and had a few hours on a plane to get some work done, so finally, only two months late, here is chapter 10! I figure this puts me about halfway through my story. Enjoy :)

**Stand By Me**

* * *

 

_"When the night has come,_

_And the land is dark,_

_And the moon is the only light we'll see,_

_No I won't be afraid._

_Oh, I won't be afraid,_

_Just as long as you stand, stand by me."_

_\- Stand By Me, Ben. E. King_

* * *

I didn't sleep much that night; I don't think any of us did. I woke up, as usual, earlier than the rest of the dorm, got changed quickly and quietly, and descended into the Common Room, taking _The Time Machine_ with me. The idea of escaping far into the future seemed rather appealing.

Slowly, my fellows Gryffindors awoke and joined me below. Angelina Johnson smiled a quick hello as she dashed down the stairs with a friend. The Weasley twins were busying themselves with Neville telling some clever joke that induced raucous laughter. Lavender and Pavarti came down the stairs quietly, with Lavender shooting me a look of contempt. Chris was next; she briefly caught my eye, then quickly redirected her gaze to some inconspicuous place. It was 7:53, and Hermione had not yet come down; she was usually very strict in her schedule, arriving downstairs at precisely 7:45 every morning.

I decided I would check on her and quickly ran up the stairs. In doing so, I neglected to pay attention to my path and collided into two boys, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Ron exclaimed as my book tumbled down to the step. He deftly bent and snatched it up before it could fall down any more steps. "Here you go!" He handed it back to me.

"Thanks," I said quickly, barely making eye contact with the two as I continued my ascent.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Harry asked suddenly. The rest of the Gryffindors were filing out of the room.

I paused. My first interaction with the Boy-Who-Lived; a casual question about breakfast. I wondered, suddenly, who made breakfast for him for the past eleven years?

"Yeah," I said, "I just, um, forgot something."

"Oh, okay," said Harry. "It's Dally, right?"

I nodded.

"I'm–"

"-Harry Potter," I breathed. "I know."

"Ah," said Harry. Silence ensued. I wonder if he could feel the immensity of the moment; the Dark Lord's nemesis and the Lestrange's daughter, finally meeting, communicating with civility. We had something in common, the Boy-Who-Lived and I: our parents were gone. But that isn't a point I could bring up and explain, now is it?

"Well," Ron said, with an implication of impatience in his voice. He was probably hungry.

"Uh, yeah," Harry mumbled. "See you, Dally."

"See you, Harry. You too, Ron." I turned around quickly and headed back up the stairs to our dorm.

Reaching the door, I paused. My intention had been to talk to her, but second thoughts changed my plan of action. I knocked. "Hermione?" Nothing. "Hermione, are you in there?" A rustle from within was my answer.

"I guess you don't want to talk," I said. What had I expected? I continued: "I'll talk. I'm really, really sorry. I don't know if I should've told you sooner, or not at all, but now everything's bad and I wish it wasn't. I just… I just want you to know that I'm _not_ like that. That's probably not too reassuring."

I paused, listening for a response. None came. "It's almost eight, Hermione. I going down for breakfast. You should eat." Nothing. "Are you coming to classes today?" Silence. "Okay, well, I just wanted to see if you were okay." Okay? Of course she's not okay! "You need some time, and I get that. I just hope… don't think… I'm sorry." I stepped away from the door and turned to catch up to the Gryffindors on their way to breakfast.

Then, I heard it. Barely a whisper, her words from behind closed door struck with worse than a shout:

_Saying sorry doesn't mean it doesn't hurt._

* * *

Breakfast was no different from any other day; I sat, alone, studying the glass windows intently. I found myself observing a party scene delicately put together with vibrant reds, yellows, greens, and blues. There had to be thirty or even forty individuals in the window, abstract caricatures with flowing robes flitting about like festive hummingbirds. This was apparently a memory from long ago, when the Houses interacted harmoniously. It was the preservation of a long forgotten ideal, hidden up above the students, viewed only by those who, like me, turned away from the confusing social rules of adolescents; I wondered if I would enjoy the party being depicted, raucous, wild, bright. I pondered the curiosity of human nature, the need for social interaction everyone but me and a select few oddballs exhibited.

This introspection removed me so much from reality that I did not realize it was time for class until Professor McGonagall informed me that if I were late for her class, I could expect to be spending my night cleaning the Quidditch trophies.

* * *

Transfiguration passed, for me, slowly. We had moved passed Theoretical Transfiguration a little over a week before and now were trying to change a feather into a quill. I had successfully completed this task, with much effort, two classes before, and now was absently switching the feather to quill and back again. Padma was happy when she finally mastered this, and laughed each time as the feather shifted and extended to produce a writing tip. I glanced around the classroom and saw that Hermione had made it to class. She made a few feeble twitches of her wand to give the appearance of effort, but clearly, her mind was preoccupied, and who could blame her? I watched her for several minutes, gradually losing sensitivity to the sounds, actions, and people around me until her every movement was my only focus. I heard a buzzing, and my head started throbbing, right behind the eyes. I heard the whispers of people around me. _Feather to quill, feather to quill… what's for lunch… Herbology homework… write my parents… home… I want to go home._

* * *

Charms with Hufflepuff was a relief from monotony, but my discomfort at the previous night's events was not eased. Professor Flitwick demonstrated three charms we would be studying in the next week, while Benji and I passed notes on _The Time Machine_. He noticed my distraction and discomfort and wrote:

" _Is everything OK?"_

I nodded. Benji raised his eyebrows, spotting my lie easily. I looked down at his question again, and after a second of reflection, shook my head.

" _What happened?"_

" _Tell you later,"_ I wrote.

He looked concerned. " _It's like you saw a morlock or something_."

That gained him a little smile, my first genuine moment of peace that day.

* * *

History of Magic was even more awful than usual. A droning lecture on the agricultural development of ancient trolls paired with the uncomfortable awkwardness of sitting next to Hermione made me long for double Potions with Slytherin. She gripped her quill tightly, ripping little holes in her notes as she wrote. She didn't volunteer a single answer; Bo was surprised, though clearly pleased to answer every question Professor Binns posed. She didn't even scold others for their drooping eyelids and loud yawns. She was indifferent and apathetic, not at all like the typical competitive jobsworth she usually was. I felt horrible, but I didn't know what to say or do. So, I said nothing, and I did nothing.

* * *

Herbology with Slytherin was next. Mostly in the last week — since his unfortunate flying accident – Neville had warmed up to Theo and I, and we were thankful that he was part of our group. For as inept as he was in Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions – Potions by far being the worst! — he was top of the class in Herbology. He loved it, and had a real connection with Professor Sprout. The latter had not yet formed a better opinion of myself, but oddly, seemed to interact just fine with the Slytherins.

That's not to say that some, or most, of the Slytherins weren't troublesome. Theo, Neville, and I worked across from Draco, Goyle, and Crabbe; each of them had their own reasons for despising the three of us, and that became an odd bonding element between us. This particular day, we were working on planting puffapods. After learning the theory of puffapod gardening, we broke class for lunch, which I spent, as expected, in silent contemplation; I was still stuck on that party scene. After that not unpleasant first half of Herbology and a quiet lunch, I felt more at ease, and was glad to rejoin Neville and Theo for the second half of Herbology.

Blaise Zabini turned out to be very allergic to the little pods, sneezing uncontrollably as soon as he breathed in a few spores. This was particularly amusing as Professor Sprout had declared only moments before that along with some humans, all trolls have a severe puffapod allergy. Sprout left the greenhouse to bring Zabini to the Hospital Wing, telling us to behave and treat each other and the puffapods respectfully. This, apparently, was not a fair request.

As soon as she left the room, we grabbed our materials and dispersed to our planting stations, which were close enough that you could hear parts of conversations going on – "Why are you watering the dirt? There's no plant!" "What's for lunch? How long 'til lunch?" "Can I copy your potions stuff?" – but not close enough to gain context or full understanding of them. However, you could hear every word said at the station directly across from your own, and my manipulative antagonist of a cousin used this acoustic effect to his advantage. However, though we were his usual targets for snide comments, he did not choose to antagonize me or intimidate Neville on this day.

"Have a nice evening yesterday, Theodore?"he said, cunning tinting his words. Theo didn't respond. "You came back late. You seemed… happy, even." The tension that had recently left my mind and body had returned, and I could tell it was a mutual tension at our planting station. "Remember, Crabbe? Goyle?" Crabbe and Goyle grunted in agreement. "He was almost past curfew. Where were you, Theo?" Draco mocked.

Theo looked up and with more emotional maturity than I had ever seen in him, smiled – fully, broadly smiled – and said: "Oh, did Draco miss me?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. After a lengthy pause, perhaps to count to ten like the muggle trick suggests, he spoke again with the same aloof, cruel tone as before. "No. But did little Theodore miss his mommy? She misses him too. At least, that's what she wrote," he smirked, pulling a handful of crumpled papers from his robe pocket. Neville had been carefully placing puffapod seeds in delicate holes he had dug in the soil, but now placed his pod down to watch. I observed this scene quietly with what I hoped was a neutral expression; I didn't know how Theo might react. His eyebrows lowered slightly, but he returned back to his work.

"See, you really shouldn't be out so late, _Teddy,"_ Draco sneered. Theo twitched at what was clearly a private nickname. "And you really should train your owl to arrive in the morning only. 'Cause after you left dinner in such a rush last night, it came in looking for you. Professor Snape was not happy with the commotion and gave _me_ your letter to deliver to you. I do apologize for the delay, I'm not conditioned to such menial tasks. I was going to give it to you later in the evening, but it was almost curfew and you weren't back and I found myself in need of some–" he paused, perhaps for dramatic effect "–bedtime reading." He had a triumphant look on his face, while Goyle and Crabbe practically drooled in glee.

"Give it back, Malfoy," Neville whimpered, his attempt at confidence failing.

Draco didn't acknowledge Neville. "Is there something you want to tell us, Teddy? Some problems at home?"

"No," Theo said stiffly.

Draco frowned mockingly, and said: "Really? Because your mother's letter would indicate otherwise."

"Leave it, Draco," I said. This vile, evil little bastard was going too far, even for a Malfoy. He met my Lestrange stare with cold, arrogant eyes, then grinned.

He cleared his throat and began to read excerpts from the letter. "' _I miss you too, Teddy, but I want you to stay for Christmas. You know it's safer there…'_ Why, Teddy? Why is it safer? And here: ' _I know you worry about me, but you shouldn't anymore…'_ and then–" he flipped to another page "–here it says: ' _Make the best of the roommate situation. It's good that you have friends in other Houses, but you don't want to aggravate anyone. You know it wouldn't be good if we had a letter home about you from Professor Snape.'_ Why, Teddy? Why wouldn't it be good?"

"No particular reason," Theo said. He didn't look up, but his face was flushed red and his jaw was set tight.

Draco leaned across the table and whispered: "Teddy, if something is going on at home you should really talk about it. We'd all understand," he said, indicating himself, Goyle, and Crabbe. "Maybe not _relate._ I mean, after all, my father doesn't b–" His diatribe was abruptly halted by a ball of dirt laced with vibrant puffapod seeds colliding with the side of his head.

"Stop it Malfoy! Just stop!" Neville called out with the same confused mix of anger and sadness I had seen when Benji and I brought him to the Hospital Wing. His anger was short-lived, shifting almost instantaneously to fear as Draco's eyes, cold and furious, turned to him. Crabbe and Goyle, with more speed than I would ever have expected of such clumsy-looking individuals, made their way around the joint stations. I stood and faced Goyle, tucking Neville in behind me. With what I thought at the time was a great deal of confidence and threat, I said: "Back off, you gorilla." I had no Shakespearean references, no moving quotes; in a battle of intimidation, strength, bravado, I had no power.

Theo ignored the gorilla-like beings that now stood on either side of our little group and directed his speech towards my still-fuming cousin: "Malfoy, give me the letter." His voice, calm as ever, revealed nothing. But his eyes, pale green, burned with all the wrath and boldness of a Slytherin; the usually stoic boy presented a ferocity, an intense anger, a fierce hatred that even Draco's disdain for muggles could not parallel.

I now noticed that all eyes — prying, misunderstanding eyes — were on us. This included those of Professor Sprout, who returned from her delivery of Zabini to the Hospital Wing at the most unfortunate of moments. It must have been quite a sight, from her perspective: Draco, with a shocked face smothered in puffapod dirt, waving crumpled papers with pride; Neville, trembling, flanked on both sides by an unlikely friend blocking a very likely antagonist; said antagonists, grunting and groaning but looking no more stupid than usual; myself, as angry and intimidating as a defensive mouse; and Theo, unreadable, except for his eyes. I imagine that all of this did not reflect well on us, and was not surprised when Professor Sprout ignited.

"Mr. Nott, Mr. Malfoy _,"_ she exclaimed. "What is going on?" She took several steps through the group of students observing us. "Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, get back to your own station." She not-so-gently dragged Goyle away from me and pushed him to the other side of the desk. Sprout gestured for Crabbe to move.

"Professor," Draco spluttered, spitting dirt, "Professor, I don't know why they all went off on me like that. Dalaria and Theodore, they started threatening my friends and I and then he, Neville, started–"

"I don't believe I asked you, Mr. Malfoy," Sprout said, her voice uncharacteristically bitter. "This behaviour," she continued, addressing the six of us, "is unacceptable and inappropriate. I expected more from young, intelligent witches and wizards." Her disciplining tone, I noticed, resembled Professor McGonagall's. "Ten points from your houses, for each of you." The class groaned collectively.

Sprout put a hand up as if conducting an orchestra and the greenhouse fell silent. "You six will sort out your situation with maturity and respect and" she emphasized this next part, " _on your own time._ Consider yourselves lucky, and warned. Next time, you'll end up using your own time to clean out the greenhouse cabinets." She glanced around the classroom at the annoyed faces around us, taking what were, for someone of her stature, relatively large and powerful steps. "That goes for all of you! Now get back to work! Mr. Finnigan, the puffapods are very sensitive and don't appreciate that type of language. Yes, Miss Bulstrode, you have to touch the dirt. No, Mr. Weasley…"

Her voice drifted into a faint buzz as I directed my attention to Theo, who was still silently fuming, and Neville, embarrassed and red. "Theo," I whispered, "are you okay?"

He said nothing, glaring across the table. Draco met his eyes with a crafty gaze. Evidently, we were nowhere near a resolution.

* * *

Astronomy Theory was next, with Hufflepuff. Professor Sinistra had assigned us constellations in pairs that we would study later in the sky later that night; Benji and I were to spend our class time finding out all we could about the Leo Minor constellation. I, however, was in no mood to work, and in frantic whispers ranted to Benji about the events the previous night and then Herbology.

I told him about Hermione's dictionary and Chris' unexpected outburst. I told him about telling them everything, or almost everything, about my family, and how bad I felt and how pointless my apologies were. I told him about the pain and anger and confusion on Hermione's face. I told him about the one-sided conversation between the door that morning, and about the torturous 51 minutes of History of Magic. I was worried about Hermione. Her innocent perspective of a newcomer in this world of magic and wonder had been destroyed in months by hatred and prejudice and me.

And I was worried about Theo. Recalling the events of the previous class, I ran through Theo's actions and reactions like one of the films Benji had brought me to see. I remembered things I hadn't noticed in the moment: the way his eyes softened when he heard his mothers words, his little flinch when Draco mentioned his father. And what about the snippets of the letter? And how dare Draco read his private letter! He was a horrid, evil little bastard!

"Dally! Dally! Calm down!" Benji whispered, catching me before my fuming became loud enough for everyone to hear. He wore a troubled expression. I had not yet let him speak, and so he chose his words carefully, clearly addressing each problem individually.

"One, give Hermione time and space. She'll come 'round. She's just hurting and doesn't have many friends right now, so she's gotta hurt in quiet. Kinda like you, except you have me. But I don't think you tell me everything, and that's okay, 'cause you'd rather hurt in quiet. Second," he said, turning his gaze down a little, "it's not your fault. You know that, right? It's not." He paused for several heavy seconds. "Third, about Theo. I don't know what to do. He's like you a little too, hurtin' in quiet. But you said Draco said the letter said it was _safer_ for him here? Hmm. I think… I think that he's our friend, and that when he's done hurtin' in quiet, when's he's sorted everything out for himself, he'll come to us. He needs some time up in his own head but with people who love him here. But we have to keep Draco off of him."

I nodded, gazing blankly at the diagram of Leo Minor in our textbook.

"Dally?"

"Yeah?"

"D'you believe in fate? Like, that everything happens for a reason?"

"I- I don't know. I'd like to think so, but then there's people in the world like- like Bellatrix and Xavier and- and Draco."

He said nothing, pondering my response. "I think," he said slowly, "I think that everyone's got a reason for being here and everythin's got a reason to happen. I think that we — people, humanity — are good. We're– we've _got_ to be good. And everything has a way of working itself out if people keep on being good."

And there it was again, that unending optimism about the world that made him just as ostracized as I in the Downs. For while anyone else would have attacked Draco or pitied Hermione, he could sit there and believe with all his heart that everything had a way of working itself out. His utter faith in humanity and the universe was inspirational, but for me, that inspiration always had trouble sticking.

* * *

It was an exquisite night for star-gazing.

I was supposed to be observing Leo Minor, commenting on the relative brightness of the stars and whatnot, but the rest of the sky was far too entrancing to be stuck in one spot. I, in fact, did not observe any constellations that evening. I simply stared at the ebony cover, dotted with brilliant little orbs.

It was magnificent. The infinite beauty of the universe laid out before us; nobody, not the best astrologists of the wizarding world nor the smartest muggles of the scientific community knew what lay beyond those stars. After all, there were stars, galaxies, worlds, dare I say life beyond what we could see, but try as we may, neither muggles nor wizards could explain our own universe, our own existence.

The night sky had always had a hold on me. It's powerful, wonderful, and frightening all at once. It makes you ponder the basis of existence, reality. It makes you realize that you are less than a speck in the grand scheme of the universe. It makes you question your purpose, your _raison d'être._ It makes you smile, and despair; it makes you apathetic and passionate. It's paradoxical, it's simple, it's everything. But this draw, these feelings, that awe, some places on Earth, is just a little more palpable. In the Downs, it's there. Maybe it's the history, the isolation, the treacherous crags, or something else that amplifies the universe; I don't know. But in the Downs, you can't just glance at the night sky. It captures your eyes, using little persuasion to keep you staring for minutes, hours, until its beauty dissolves, courtesy of the violent sun.

Now, I have not travelled much, but the metropoles I have visited – Glasgow, Dublin, London – are not privy to this special sky. They have the ordinary sky that pedestrians politely compliment whilst strolling through a park at night. Still enchanting, no doubt, but lacking that paradoxical quality.

And now, at Hogwarts' zenith, I felt it; that soothing yet ominous draw that seems to both isolate you from and unite you with the entirety of existence. I don't know why I hadn't noticed it here before. Maybe it took a while to kick in, or maybe it depended on the day, or maybe all of this is just dramatic imagination. Standing on the Astronomy Tower, surrounded by students and the universe, all the worries of life and the day drifted up into the open sky and I became unaware of anything other than the presence of my own consciousness in an infinite existence.

It was an exquisite night for star-gazing, and despite the tragedies of that day, that week, that school year, and life, as I stared into an unending abyss of unknown I felt a little bit of that hopeless optimism that plagues and comforts my dear friend Benji.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you've read this far, I would love any feedback on the story, characters, writing, anything! I'm particularly curious about the dialogue; writing action and descriptions comes more naturally to me and I sometimes struggle with dialogue, so if anyone has any tips I would really appreciate it!


	11. Rhymes and Reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! Sorry for the long wait. I assure you, this is a work in progress, not an abandoned project. However, I've been having some trouble finding the time (and words) to write. Here it is, though, chapter eleven. I'm in a little more of a writing mood as school finishes up and hope to be updating more over the summer.
> 
> As usual, I only own my characters and the rest belongs to J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Rhymes and** **Reasons**

* * *

 

_"So you speak to me of sadness_

_And the coming of the winter,_

_Fear that is within you now_

_That seems to never end,_

_And the dreams that have escaped you_

_And the hope that you've forgotten…"_

_\- Rhymes and Reasons, John Denver_

* * *

Professor McGonagall pulled me aside one day in late October reminding me that my interview with her would be on Hallowe'en, during my History of Magic class at 11:00. She asked me to write a little about how school is going, my friends, my roommates, my concerns, anything, and give it to her by that Wednesday. Tuesday night, I sat down to write:

_Two months at Hogwarts have passed quickly… it's almost November. Classes are fine, and I have yet to encounter any problems. I have made a few friends, and my roommates and I get along just fine._

I stopped, planning to reveal nothing more. After all, I wasn't sure what else I should write. "The truth would be good, Dally," I said to myself.

_Well, that's a small fib. A little while ago Hermione found out about my parents. How and when isn't really important, just that things haven't been great since then. Not that they were terrific before, but at least at the start of the term my dormmates and I could hold a conversation together. Tensions have eased slightly among us, though Hermione and I no longer share seats in any classes. We no longer speak, and I gave up trying to illicit even a small smile of greeting from her long ago. In fact, Hermione distanced herself greatly from all of us._

This was true. Hermione rarely spoke to anyone.

_Lavender and her have very different "styles," in all meanings and applications of the word._

Vivacious versus reserved, procrastinating versus studious, ignorant versus informed.

_It was inevitable, even without the conflict, that they would grow apart. Chris and Hermione have a similar problem, that being the fact that they shared no common interests, and really cannot stand one another._

Chris, a little tactless, had not succeeded in comforting Hermione in the days following "the Incident." Quite the opposite in fact; I'm unsure about the exact situation, but it seems that offensive words were spoken by both parties and no words have been shared since.

_Hermione's dislike, or perhaps fear, for me isn't surprising, but I don't understand why there is silence between Hermione and Pavarti, the "dorm mother." Is it just too awkward a situation? Is it spite, from either side?_

But I don't want to spend too much time writing about that; after all, these are just observations from an eleven-year-old girl with little to no life experience, and I'm not sure that my analyses are correct. I continue:

_Hermione spends her spare time in the library, the courtyard, or the Common Room, and does not return to the dorm — her designated home that is most un-homelike — until absolutely necessary. On occasion, she wakes before me and is gone without a "hello" or "good morning."_

At night, Pavarti, Chris, and Lavender typically crowd onto one bed and giggle and whisper; I know I'm not exactly welcome, but their tension has eased enough to know that I'm harmless and will sit quietly reading. Hermione doesn't have that luxury. She doesn't feel welcome in her own bedroom, and I feel like it is at least partially my fault.

I won't tell McGonagall this, but Hermione is a little off-putting. Independence and intelligence, those we have in common, but with her it can quickly turn to arrogance. Still, that doesn't excuse this dorm's behaviour, and I feel bad.

_She's lonely, and I know how bad that can feel. It's an odd feeling, being alone in a crowd, but its signs are obvious. Head down, arms tight to the body, and the look of being in a foreign city without a map. I've felt that, when I first got here, and even sometimes now in the hallways or at the dinner table. But my cross-House friendships with Benji, Bo, and Theo make me feel found again._

_On the weekend, I spoke with my friends — though it still feels strange to pluralize that word — about this predicament with Hermione. Benji, ever the optimist, assured me that it will be alright. Theo, ever the pessimist, stated that that's just how things are. And Bo, the intellectual, went into a long ranting lecture about the psychology of friendship that he had read in some textbook somewhere._

_Benji and I have been best friends for our entire lives. I like that he's here. He reminds me of the few good things about home, and is always a lot happier than I am. Bo is really smart and funny and charming, basically the opposite of Theo. He's a strange guy, but I think we have some things in common._

I pondered over whether I should mention Theo's letter to McGonagall, but decided against it.

_Overall, it's been pretty good here, but I still get lots of stares. Muggles say something like "if looks could kill…" Well, that's what it feels like. Though I experience civility from my roommates and most teachers, and friendship from three individuals, I still feel isolated and hated by the majority of the population here. A few open-minded people, like the Patils and Angelina Johnson, they're alright, but the rest? They flinch at my name. I can't say I blame them._

I stare at my scroll. A drop of ink slips from my quill down to the page, a dark tear staining honest words that I dread having to discuss with McGonagall.

* * *

I hand my written note to McGonagall at the start of our Double Transfiguration with Slytherin the next morning. Taking my seat beside Theo, I noted his faint look of curiosity.

"Extra homework?" He questioned, not taking his eyes away from the textbook passage he's reading.

"Uh, no. No. It's for my interview thing with her. She's Head of Gryffindor, right? And she's meeting with all first years, but wanted a note to read first."

He nods slowly. "I had mine with Snape Monday. It took all of two minutes."

I couldn't imagine having to spend two minutes alone with that man; he was cold and emotionless, and I doubt he would be a very good confidant. That made me think about Theo's letter again. The events of that Herbology class had been filed away in some drawer of my brain, out of sight but not quite out of mind. I was still worried about Theo, but I didn't want to push him. So I said nothing.

McGonagall began her lesson on returning Transfigured items to their original state. Usually, Transfiguration was enjoyable, but I couldn't focus on this day. My head was hurting again; that hadn't happened for a while, and I had assumed that I'd gotten used to the crowded halls and loud dining hall. This was probably just me internalize the slight terror I had leading up to my interview. After all, my feelings were not on the list of discussion topics I enjoyed.

I daydreamed, though I'm not sure what prompted these dreams. I was at once aware of my surroundings and absorbed by these mental images, clear depictions of things I had never seen or done. They were so vivid, so detailed, so real. In one, I soared up, up, up, over what looked like the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. The background was fuzzy, but I think I could pick out the castle. In another, twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower blinded me as I stood directly below it. In yet another, I was running through a rolling, golden field.

A sharp smack to the face awoke me from this trancelike state, though I soon realized that the smack had been a final, rather rude, dream.

"Welcome back," Theo said. There was some light chatter in class, so the lesson was clearly over.

"What'd I miss?"

He slid his open textbook to me and gestured to a big block of tiny text. "That's what we were supposed to get through but," he sighed, exasperated, "due to my less than brilliant Slytherin colleagues' interruptions and idiotic questions, we only got to here." He indicated on the page. "There's only three minutes left in class."

I nodded slowly. I hoped that McGonagall had not noticed my mental absence from her class. Two and a half minutes left. I was a little disoriented still. Shaken, maybe, is a better word. My little daydreaming session had felt so real but not quite right. It was disarming.

"Dally?" Theo's voice, usually flat, monotone, serious, was shaky and uncertain.

"Yeah Theo?" I said softly.

"Remember the first day, when we got here. Getting off the boats?"

The boats? Oh yes, we took the little ferries and that's how we all met. It seemed long ago. But what was Theo talking about? Getting off the boats?

Oh.

Getting off the boats. I remembered now. In the moment, I had been furious and confused, but quickly — the next day in fact — his overall calm, quiet, unassuming demeanour had redeemed himself and I had put the events in a dark corner of my mind. Now, Theo was sweeping that corner and the memory came out and, though a little dusty, I recalled him saying that we needed to talk.

Two minutes left in class.

"You want to talk now?"

He shook his head. Although he was far from a master of normal socialization, he rarely appeared self-conscious. This moment was an exception. "No, not now. And, um, I apologize. For that night. I wasn't very–" he cleared his throat "–gentlemanly."

"No, you weren't," I snapped, a little harsher than I meant to be. I lowered my voice. "What do you want to talk about? When? And where and why?"

"It needs to be private," he said, regaining his cool, aloof, and mechanical approach to social conventions. "At the first Quidditch match, meet me down by the Lake. There's a path, coming off the way to the secret spot. I'll be there."

I was confused, but agreed that I would meet him. Great. Now I had two meetings that I dreaded attending, though at least I knew the content of my _rendez-vous_ with McGonagall. We sat in silence for the remaining minute. I read through the textbook content that was supposed to be covered in class, and Theo studied his shoes. We were dismissed by McGonagall.

A sea of starved students rushed to the Great Hall, eager to refuel after a busy morning of magical instruction. Theo was the one lone body swimming against this tsunami. I wondered where he was going, what he wanted to talk about, why he was being so mysterious about this, and when, if ever, he would be a little more open and trusting. Soon, though, my curiosity about the lunch menu overcame my curiosity about Theo and I was swept along with the current of hungry bodies.

* * *

I've never enjoyed Hallowe'en. There are so many things to dislike about it.

To begin with, there's the food. Everything is sweet, heavy, rich. It makes me sick! I can't eat more than a single Chocolate Frog or a small handful of Bertie's Beans or a few spoons of treacle tart, but that's all anyone seems to eat! The muggle concept of trick-o-treating, which Ellie Hudson somehow persuaded Xavier to allow me to partake in for a few years, is frightening. Perhaps it was just the prejudice of the Downsfolk about the Rastricks (and the Hudsons), but I hated having to knock on strange doors. Benji loved it though. He loved it for the treats, and to show off his costume. That, in fact, is what disturbs me the most about the holiday: the costumes Muggles and wizards alike dress up, disguising their faces, identities, motivations. Hallowe'en always brings out my distrust in people.

A dislike for All Hallow's Eve is one of the few things that my cousin Cyrus and I have in common. (That was another, more petty reason I disliked the day; it drew commonality between him and I). Though he was away at school for most of my Hallowe'ens, he often complained about the day and the Feast.

Then, of course, there was a certain stigma, a negative association of the Lestrange family and October 31st. I tried barring that association from my mind, but it never worked. Every year, on top of the sickening food and the obligatory fearless social requirements and the misleading regalia and the reminder of my cousin, the memory and knowledge of my parents' crimes creeped into my mind.

Thus, when I awoke on October 31st, I was not anticipating a particularly enjoyable day.

However, nothing bothersome, sickening, creepy, disturbing, or uncomfortable happened all morning. (Nothing more than usual, that is). Professor Flitwick was dressed as a goblin, though it was hard to tell the difference from his usual appearance.

I departed my Charms class and turned not towards the History of Magic room, but towards McGonagall's office, situated not too far from the Gryffindor Tower to keep track of her ambitious young students.

I approached her door. Reminiscent of the witch herself, the heavy door stood tall, showing signs of both age and strength. I knocked.

"Come in."

Her office was impressive; much like the Gryffindor Tower, it was accented in deep red and gold lions, but here, the House pride was a little more subtle. The desk, shelves, and walls were a rich brown which shone in the warm light of the brick fireplace. Books were organized neatly on the shelves, broken up by the odd trinket carefully placed to be viewed without drawing too much attention. The room was meticulously clean, and clearly much thought had been put into its organization. It was, like McGonagall, pragmatic and distinguished, while showing subtle warmth and comfort.

Said witch sat behind her desk, glasses almost slipping off her nose as she perused a thick textbook. She scratched a few notes in a margin before glancing up at me.

"Please, sit, Miss Lestrange."

I obliged. The chair was one of those that looks more comfortable than it actually is, which was disappointing. I said nothing, and waited for her to speak. She, apparently, was waiting for me to do the same, so we sat in silence, carefully studying one another. Finally, she spoke.

"I appreciated your honesty, Miss Lestrange. In your note, that is."

I nodded, unsure of what to say. She sighed and continued. "You're in a… delicate… situation, as I'm sure you're aware." Obviously. "Have you, by chance, had any interactions with Mr. Longbottom?" Her voice faded slightly at the end. I wondered what her connection to the Longbottoms was.

"We're partners in Herbology twice a week."

"I see."

Another minute of silence followed. This time, I was the one to break it. "I wouldn't say we're friends, but he, uh, he doesn't seem scared of me now." A shorter pause. "No one seems scared of me anymore. Just angry."

McGonagall nodded. "Yes, it seems so. It will take some–"

"Time? Understanding? No offence, Professor, but I've heard all that," I interrupted. "While I'd like to agree with Benji, like I wrote, that everything will work out, that doesn't mean it doesn't feel awful until it does all work out."

Before she could respond to my outburst, I continued. "I guess it's not like everyone spends all their time focusing on me either. Not with Harry Potter starting school. But I don't know that I've give up my spot for his."

Her eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. "Why is that?"

"It's a lot of pressure on him, I guess, to be really great and all, but he's just a kid. Like the rest of us. I've never really talked to him, and he seems nice enough, but it must be rough to be admired for surviving while being orphaned."

She maintained her rather intimidating appearance, but her usually omniscient eyes softened, as when one used to knowing everything is suddenly confused. Her eyes, I noticed, were an unusually pale shade of green, like the leaves of a new blossom in spring. However, they lacked the vivacity of that blossom, having been dulled by time and life. I wondered what they had seen. I was sure that she saw and knew more than anyone could ever guess.

Following yet another minute of silence, she restarted the conversation. "Your note mostly concerned the troubles among your roommates. Is there anything you'd care to add?"

I thought for a minute, then said: "I think I've told you all I can about that. From my view, anyway. I just, I don't know what to do about…"

"About Miss Granger?"

I nodded.

"Yes, you expressed concern for her. She left shortly before you arrived." I hadn't noticed that Hermione wasn't in Charms. "She's very intelligent."

I nodded again. McGonagall's expression became thoughtful for a moment, and then she continued. "And your other roommates? I think the word you used was 'civil?'"

"We're far from close, but they're not mean or anything. We just have separate agendas most of the time."

McGonagall nodded in a way that indicated I was supposed to elaborate, which I did, although not necessarily happily. "Well, Chris and I are at the same table for Potions twice a week. She's funny, kind of, um, blunt, and we talk a little then but not any other time. Pavarti is a little more friendly, but I talk to her sister more in Transfiguration on Thursdays."

"And Miss Brown?"

I think I noted a little humour in her voice as she anticipated my response. "Well, we share a table for Potions on Fridays, but don't really talk. Ever. We don't have a lot in common." Her popularity conflicted with my unpopularity, her bubbliness fought with my darker demeanour, her — to be frank — childishness battled against with my slightly more mature take on the world.

This time, McGonagall was unsurprised. Her guard was let down for a second, and an empathetic expression crossed her face. I only caught a glimpse of this expression, though, as an image appeared in my mind suddenly, yanking me from my surroundings much more aggressively than my previous daydreams; a girl, my age, bouncing curls and giggling smile, in what seemed like the Gryffindor common room, though the decorations were different.

Just as the girl was about to speak, the pain started. It was as if my head had been split by Raskolnikov's axe; for a brief lucid moment, I wondered if I was more like Alonya Ivanovna or Lizaveta. The dark took over.

* * *

I later learned that nothing dramatic or traumatic had occurred. No murderous axemen slinging weapons through anyone's head here. My eyes, usually dark and shiny, dulled for an instant before clenching tight. I let out a small yelp of pain. Then, I lost consciousness.

I woke up in the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey recounted to me the story McGonagall had told her. Once again, I was struck by her composure that at once both deflected reverence and demanded attention.

"You're to remain here for the night," she said, pouring some green liquid from a jar into a little vial. "Take this. It will help with any residual aches in your head, and put you to sleep in a little while."

It was revolting but instantly, I felt some pressure I hadn't realized was in my head disappear. "What time is it? How long have I been here?"

For a while, apparently. I had missed my first Halloween banquet which, I learned, had been quite the event! Madam Pomfrey casually mentioned the fact that a _troll_ had been loose in the building, but that it had been thwarted by a small group of students and teachers.

"How could a troll get in?" I asked.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, unsure. "Now, Miss Lestrange," she said. Either not noticing or not acknowledging my slight cringe, she continued: "I have some questions, about yourself, your medical history, and whatnot. Shall we begin?"

I nodded.

She began, readying a quill and scrap of paper that she, it seemed, had conjured from nowhere. I suppose that by now, I should not have been surprised by these things!

"Do you get these headaches often?"

"Um, well, sort of. I get them usually around lots of people. Like when I visit London, or King's Cross Station. At the Welcoming Feast at the start of the year, that was my last bad one," I said.

"Hm. And," she said, not looking up, "do you get them during meals now? In class? In the corridors?"

I thought for a moment, and told her that no, I supposed I didn't get them then.

"Have they ever altered your level of consciousness before?" I shook my head. "Alright, and how long have you had them?" She asked.

"Well," I said, tracing back in my mind as many years as I could recall, "I remember getting them back when I was seven. And I don't remember it exactly, but I know that the first time I went to London after– after being in the Downs for a little while, when I was a baby, well everyone tells me I didn't like it at all. They had to give me a potion to calm me down."

Madam Pomfrey nodding, scratching away at the paper in her tiny script.

"Although," I continued, "I'm not sure if that was my head or my family causing that agitation. We were visiting the Malfoys, after all."

Her eyes, sweeping from her notes, met my gaze; the sparkle and slight crinkle around the edges indicated to me that she wanted to laugh, but was prevented from doing so by her non-partisan position. A brief moment later, this whimsy transformed back to pragmatism, and she continued her interview.

"Can you describe what these headaches are like?"

"They happen suddenly. Everything's fine and then it's like there's a knife in the side of my head. Every light gets really bright and my eyes start to hurt. I can hear everything going on around me, but it doesn't… register… quite right. Like, I'm aware of the world but I can't understand any of it."

Madam Pomfrey moved her entire body for the first time, so she was looking at me. Her head was tilted slightly, her brow lowered a little. Setting her notes and quill at the foot of my bed, she leaned in and asked: "Why do you think these happen?"

I didn't know. When I got them in London, I thought it was simply a physical manifestation of my frustration with the Malfoy clan. At King's Cross, I thought it was sensory overstimulation from the business and noise. The Welcoming Feast, I had thought, was stress and fear. All the times before – Knockturn Alley, the train, the Quidditch cup last year — had been in crowded, loud place where I was alone or scared or uncomfortable. But with McGonagall, I didn't know.

I told Madam Pomfrey as much.

She waited a minute, then silently brandished out her wand. It was simple, tannish, with no artistic embellishments that I could see. With a quick snap of the wand and a few indistinguishable syllables murmured softly, something… odd… happened.

An almost imperceptible wave of energy radiated outward from the wand. It wasn't visible, but I felt I brush slowly, gently across my face. It didn't travel fast, or far; it stopped just past my bed, not reaching the closed curtains encircled the sleeping student next to me. In fact, the energy had grown concentrically, stopping just short of every other bed, surrounding only Madam Pomfrey and I.

That wasn't the odd occurrence though. No, the part that was unusual happened inside my head. As the energy field expanded, brushing past my face, I felt a great deal of pressure release from my skull, pressure I hadn't noticed was there. Instantly, my thoughts were clearer, though I hadn't realized they had been previously unclear. My stream of consciousness grew stronger and I felt space open within my mind. I felt, at once, more aware of my physical existence in the room and oblivious to the other patients in the ward. That energy, that spell had done _something_ , it had taken something from me. But what, I wasn't sure.

"Better?"

"Um, yes," I said cautiously. "Better, but– but not quite… right."

"It should help you sleep." Madam Pomfrey, having put her wand away, stood and collected her notes. "Which you should do now. You'll be discharged in the morning. Good night, Miss Lestrange." She turned to leave.

"Wait!" I called out. The witch stopped and turned on her heel, look expectedly at me.

"What, um, what was that? What did you do? Why… why is… why is it like this now?"

"It's called the Eclaisprit Spell. It's meant to block out the — um, well, perhaps _auras_ is a good word — the auras of other people. It clears the mind, enhances mental coherence, makes you forget there are other people around. Healers mostly use them for students having anxiety attacks."

"So," I began slowly, "you think that's what these are? Anxiety attacks?"

"I said we _mostly_ use the spell for anxious patients. There are other uses."

Her vagueness I found frustrating, but before I was allowed to express this vexation, Madam Pomfrey continued: "Now, we can discuss this more in the morning, but I expect that potion will be taking effect shortly. I have paperwork to do. _Good night_ , Miss Lestrange."

Her words were a little more forceful than usual, clearly indicating the end of this conversation. I provided the obligatory response and rolled over. Closing my eyes, I reflected on this newfound clarity. It was unusual. I wondered if this would make me smarter in class, or if I'd have some profound philosophy to spout, and how long this would last, and if the Hospital Wing had good food or the stereotypical, dread "hospital food." It occurred to me that I now had another example of why I dreaded Hallowe'en so much.

Nothing more crossed my mind before a warm, comforting darkness enveloped me.

* * *

I woke up from a dreamless sleep feeling rested and rejuvenated. Someone – likely Madam Pomfrey – had tucked the curtains around my bed, so my first sight was a wall of pale pink. Sitting up, I swung the curtains around. The wing was lit, by some unidentifiable source, in a soft, dark glow, making it impossible to tell the time. Most of the other beds were empty; the two that were occupied were hidden from my view by their own curtains.

Carefully, I slipped out of bed. I was still in my uniform from yesterday, now rumpled. A small sign indicated there was a washroom at the end of the wing. After exiting a few minutes later, I noticed a clock on the wall opposite, informing me that it was almost half-past nine (I assumed it meant 9 a.m.). I never slept this late; I had already missed the first half of Herbology!

I noticed that Madam Pomfrey's spell (whatever it was called) had worn off; I was now aware of the pressure, the white noise, the incoherence that inhabited my brain. It hadn't inhibited me thus far in life — after all, I was well-read and rather intelligent, I didn't mind admitting — but the knowledge and experience of clarity left me longing for relief. I suspected that as I moved through the school, into the Great Hall or Gryffindor common room, the discomfort would only worsen.

"Good morning, Miss Lestrange," said Madam Pomfrey from behind me.

I turned, smiled, and nodded my morning greeting. Gesturing for me to sit on my bed, she took a seat on the stool she'd taken notes from the night before.

"How are you feeling?" She prompted.

"Rested," I said, "and my head doesn't hurt any more. But last night was better, after that spell."

"Yes, the Eclaisprit. I believe it was a French wizard who invented it, rather recently in fact. Within the past, oh, three, perhaps four hundred years," she said. She cut off my question before I could ask it. "I don't think you're having anxiety problems, but I can't say with certainty what the problem is."

"Oh." I felt defeated. "Can you teach me how to do that, then? To make them stop?"

She shook her head. "No, that wouldn't be advisable. Patients in the past have developed an addiction of sorts. However," she noted, "there is a potion you can take when you get a headache that should ease the pain. Similar to a muggle Tylenol, if you're familiar with that."

I nodded. Ellie Hudson had tried Tylenol with me before. It hadn't worked. Maybe a magical Tylenol would be more potent.

"Other than that, there isn't a lot I can do for you. Have you brought up the issue with your par– your guardians?" Her little slip didn't faze her at all. When I said that no, I hadn't told my aunt and uncle, she continued: "Well, you may want to see a specialist if this persists. Write them a letter. Maybe you can get in to somebody over the winter break."

"I'm not going home Christmas, though. I'm going with the Malfoys," I said, with maybe a little more contempt than was necessary. "And I don't know that they'd be concerned, really. I'm sure it's just stress or, or something." I glanced around me, checking to see if I had any possessions lying loose. Seeing none, I slipped off the bed. "Can I go now?"

"Almost, Dally." She hadn't called me anything other than 'Miss Lestrange' before. "I have only one more question."

"Alright," I said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

"Do you have any interest in healing?"

I was confused by her question. "Well, yes. I mean, I'd like to get better, stop getting these–"

"No, no, no, I'm sorry. I should have specified. I mean, do _you_ have any interest in Healing, capital 'H.'" At my confounded expression, she continued quickly, losing some of her admirable composure. "Not that you're thinking of a career, or anything, it's just–" She took a breath. "You're an unusual girl, Dalaria Leigh Galena Lestrange."

I hadn't heard my full name like that in a long time.

"You see," she took a shaky breath, "there's your wand. It's extremely unusual. The bare-fronted hoodwink, it has healing powers. Your wand _wants_ to help people. And with Mr. Longbottom, you _instinctively_ helped him. And, has anyone ever commented on your name?"

"Um, yeah. You can't exactly introduce yourself as a 'Lestrange' without getting comments," I said.

"Oh, again, I'm sorry, I should really be explaining myself better. Your middle names, Dally. Has anyone told you about that?"

I couldn't remember anyone saying anything, but then, a certain letter came to mind. "Professor Dumbledore, when I got my letter from Hogwarts, wrote a letter to me and he said that names are very curious things."

"Indeed, indeed. You see, dear, there are just so many signs. He must think so too," she said, more to herself than to me. "I believe that the universe tries to send signals, and with you, the signals are strong." She came to a sudden stop, likely from seeing the confusion on my face. "Oh my, I must be frightening you. I'm terribly sorry. Forgive me, Miss Lestrange."

In an instant, her composure returned and she has her usual prompt, practical self. "All I am trying to say is that if you ever should have an interest in healing, because you do show an affinity at such a young age, you need only ask and I will be happy to teach."

Internally terrified, confused, and dying to get out of there, I said: "Great! Thank you so much." I hoped that my mental panic wasn't showing. "I'll, um, let you know if I, um, do." I had no intention of doing so. "I'll be going now, I think. I should be able to make it back to my room to clean up and only a few minutes late for Professor Quirrel."

I hopped off the bed and with a quick smile, brushed past the mediwitch who, it seemed, had seen through my facade of gratefulness and now felt bad. I was almost out the door when she called out to me. "Oh, Miss Lestrange, don't forget your medication."

I turned and, walking a few steps towards her, took it from her outstretched hand and muttered a quick 'thanks.' Then I left, holding a potion I was fairly sure wouldn't help at all, and feeling frustrated and furious.

So many people had these ideas about me that for some reason none of them could seem to explain. Mr. Ollivander, that later at the Apothecary (Tilla, I think her name was), the Headmaster, and now Madam Pomfrey! And these were the ones who had been the most up front about their curiosity. I didn't understand any of it. I was sick of it. My name, my wand, my looks… why did everyone insist it meant something! It occurred to me that Harry Potter must feel the same way.

At least Halloween was over.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter and the story so far! Again, it's a WIP, and a little slow, but I am working on it! Thanks for reading :)


	12. Father and Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Forgive the time between updates… school, work, and life gets in the way. I am feeling more motivated, not just about this story but about everything else in life, than I have in a while so hopefully I’ll update more often. 
> 
> Warning for this chapter: discussion of an abusive household situation. Nothing graphic or too triggering, I hope.
> 
> Hope you’re enjoying the story! Please leave comments, suggestions, or reviews! - m.

**Father and Son**

* * *

 

_"How can I try to explain? When I do he turns away again._

_It's always been the same, same old story._

_From the moment I could talk I was ordered to listen._

_Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away;_

_I know I have to go."_

_\- Father & Son, Cat Stevens_

* * *

 

Over a week after that disastrous Hallowe’en, we gathered on Friday evening in our secret lair. Bo and Benji were entertaining themselves by levitating various objects and trying to smash the other’s to the ground. Bo’s textbook quickly beat Benji’s ink well (thankfully, shut tight with a magical seal). Theo sat quietly in the corner, scratching away at a fifteen-inch essay on the properties of troll drool and blood; Snape, after a week of hearing nothing but rumours about the troll, had assigned said essay to shut everyone up. At least, I’m fairly certain it wasn’t for the sake of class interest.

I had just finished a letter to Rohesia and Xavier, telling them that classes were going well and that my roommates were pleasant. I did mention my… incident… on Hallowe’en, but neglected to explain Madam Pomfrey’s unusual behaviour or that the remedial potion she had offered was, unfortunately, useless.

Sealing the envelope, I decided I’d drop it off to Vito in the Owlery later that evening. While Benji and Bo continued their game, Theo looked up from his essay. There was an unspoken tension between us; the Quidditch match was tomorrow, and we were going to talk about… something. It made me uneasy.

"How’s your head?" Theo asked.

"Not bad," I lied. "It’s better in darker spots like this."

"You must feel fantastic in Snape’s class then," Bo interjected, his quill falling to its death at the mercy of Benji’s. "Why d’you suppose he keeps his class so dark?"

"Matches his personality," Benji laughed. 

"It’s because it’s the castle dungeons. The Slytherin common room is similarly dismal, although the light is green, from the Lake." Theo put down his parchment and quill; I thought I recognized a slight relaxation of his facial muscles, as though relieved to be done with trolls for the night.

Benji’s eyebrows raised, and he replied: "The Lake? Is your common room is under the Lake?"

Theo confirmed. "Yes. The marine life swims past, the squid and merpeople and other fish."

"You’re saying the Slytherins live in an aquarium?"

"In theory, it should be a rather fascinating place to spend time and observe wild marine life, magical and not. However, the common room and the people in it are rather cold and impersonal, and that takes away from any enjoyment of the view."

Theo’s expression was characteristically unreadable. The same could not be said for my young Hufflepuff friend who looked suddenly like one does at a wounded puppy. None of us spoke for a minute as we processed the information we had all already known; after we left our little hiding spot, Theo had to go into the snake pit to face the cool, slimy reptiles.

Bo’s face, perhaps a little more flushed than usual, lightened up as he brought the conversation another way. "The Ravenclaw common room is nice. Lots of books, a big fireplace, places to study. Oh! And the ceiling, the ceiling is painted with all the stars, and the orientation changes with the season. The beds in our dorms, those are great too. They fold down into desk with a little soundproof barrier if you want to study in silence. Everything is brown and blue and white and really clean. Well, the boys dorms isn’t terribly clean, but everywhere else."

"What a surprise," said Theo, "that the Ravenclaw Tower has a lot of books."

Bo grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, well, it’s not like all we do is read, you know! We do fun stuff too, as a house. Trivia nights, wizard’s chess, a muggle game called Jeopardy, th-"

"So all smart games? Don’t you have to answer a riddle to get in?"

"Alright, alright! We’re all… bookish and smart and stuff. We’re Ravenclaws!" Bo said, laughing. "What’s Slytherin like, then, beyond Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle?"

"It’s cold. Physically cold, I mean," said Theo, pulling his robe a little tighter around himself instinctively. "That’s from the Lake. I don’t know how far down we are, but you can’t see anything on the water surface out our windows. Our books are limited, but there are lots of unusual… artifacts. Skulls and troll legs and whatnot. Lots of black wood and dark leather chairs. And snakes. There isn’t much privacy in our dorm so I spend a lot of quality time with the boys."

He tilted his head in thought. "Malfoy, he doesn’t care much for me, but I suppose that’s not saying much. Crabbe and Goyle just do whatever he tells them to. I doubt they’ve ever had an independent thought. Zabini, he’s not bad. He- I think he thinks that Malfoy’s a bit much but it’s sort of a self-preservation thing with him. I don’t really care much about myself."

Another awkward pause ensued. Eleven-year-olds really are not equipped to handle such comments. It was I who broke the silence this time. "Well, the Gryffindor Tower is really, really Gryffindor. Lions and reds and golds everywhere, and nice comfy chairs. Our dorms are a bit crowded. There isn’t too much privacy, and I wish there were, but I do get up before everyone else and have some time to myself."

"How’s the, um, that situation with your roommates?" Bo asked.

Said situation was considerably better, and I told him so. "Hermione seems more relaxed and has actually started talking to all of us again, though," I smiled, "it’s usually to nag Chris for her slobbiness or Lavender for her nonexistent study habits. And we talked about _Romeo and Juliet_ yesterday. I was reading it and it’s her favourite Shakespeare play." I thought back. "We hadn’t talked in almost six weeks.

"I noticed that, too," Benji said suddenly. "It’s been really, like, lately. This week. Since Hallowe’en, actually. She’s hanging out with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

Now that he mentioned it, I realized that unlike me, Hermione had indeed settled on a pair of meal partners at the Gryffindor table: the Boy Who Lived and his awkward ginger friend.

Bo pondered aloud: "Perhaps it had something to do with Hallowe’en? Harry was involved in the Troll Incident-" as it had come to be known "-and I heard a rumour it took place in the girls’ lavatory. Maybe Herm-"

"I heard," Benji interrupted, his voice cracking with excitement, "that Harry took down the troll without even touching his wand!"

Theo laughed (a rare occurence) and said: "That’s not likely. Trolls are nasty beasts. Dumb as Crabbe on a love potion, but nasty. I personally believe it unlikely our own 'Defense Against the Dark Arts’ Professor Squirrel could take one down. He has been twitching far more than usual since then. No first-year couldn’t take one down by himself, even Harry Potter."

Bo nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Seamus Finnigan is spreading some rumours about that. But Harry _was_ involved, and Ron too. I heard Flitwick telling Madam Pince when I was in the library on Wednesday but-"

"A Ravenclaw in the library? Who would have guessed?"

"Shut it, Theo! Anyways, I didn’t hear the rest because Terry sat down but I bet that Hermione was there too, and that’s why they’re all friends now."

If that was the case, I was happy for her. Hopefully after a little more time she’d warm up to me and I could repair some of the damage. In the meantime, her new friends seemed to be easing her tensions and stresses and she was happy again. The magic, forgive the obvious pun, was back.

Benji pulled me out of my train of thought as he started chuckling. As three sets of inquisitive eyes landed on him, he explained: "A troll. A troll! I live in a world with trolls and magic and chocolate animals that jump and pictures that move… It’s amazing!" He gazed distantly at an image only in his mind’s eye while his voice gained volume and excitement. "And that’s only two months into school!"

Bo nodded. "Yeah, it’s insane! I grew up _knowing_ about all this stuff, because mum, she’d tell me everything that dad told her about magic, but I never really saw any of it. It’s just… it’s… wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

This silence was not an awkward one, as we reflected on the "wow" nature of magic. Living in a muggle community, I could understand what life was like without magic. I could not imagine, however, what it was like to be thrust into this world. All of Benji’s outward awe could not have compared to the things he must have felt internally, the little wonders and grand new experiences he kept to himself.

"So," Benji asked carefully, "what is this- this game that’s tomorrow? It’s, um, Squid… something?"

"Quidditch," said Theo and I in unison.

"Yeah, that! What is that?"

"Well," Bo started, "I’ve never played but I’ve read the rule book. I can explain it if you like. We can practice our levitation!"

Benji agreed and the two boys sat on the ground, pulling coins and rocks and other knick knacks from their robes to use as players.

I turned to Theo, who sat in the chair opposite me, staring just as intently back at me. Tomorrow was the day he wanted to talk, and I was still in the dark as to what the discussion topic would be. Putting that anxiety from my mind, I pulled my legs up into my own cushioned chair and decided on a topic we could both talk for hours on.

"So Theo, what’s it like living with Draco?"

* * *

The next day, Harry Potter was to make Hogwarts history. As one of, if not the youngest Seeker to play for a House team, there was a lot of pressure riding on him. I think his team membership was meant to be a secret, but it wasn’t particularly well-kept, especially among Gryffindors. Leading up to the match, the school was abuzz; bets and threats abounded. I imagine it was to be a particularly divisive match, being not only the first of the season, but also between the rival lions and snakes. 

The Gryffindor and Slytherin tables were particularly rowdy at breakfast. The fourteen players were dressed in their team robes while the rest of their tables were shrouded in the appropriate colours. The Ravenclaws had given up their bronze and blue for red and yellow, as did some of the Hufflepuffs. The Slytherins had made up for their lack of external support with much ballyhoo and silly chants. Someone had thrown gold confetti up over our table. I was cautiously picking out the glitter from my yogourt when Chris sat down across from me, though her face, now painted in red and gold, was almost unrecognizable.

"Hey Dally! How’s it going? Going to the game today?"

"Um, yeah," I said. "Yeah, I’ll probably go watch." That was not true.

She beamed. "Great! Go Gryffindor, right?" She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "I just, um, I wanted to ask you a favour. I would have asked you last night but you weren’t in the common room and then I didn’t want to ask in front of-" she took a breath "-in front of others and I knew that you always eat alone and-" she stopped suddenly, her jaw lowering a little and her eyes widening. "I didn’t mean- I just-"

"Oh no, that’s okay. I like eating alone." That was mostly true.

She shrugged off her embarrassment and continued with her rant. "Anyways, I wanted to talk to you alone to ask for help." Her face paint turned a few shades redder as she spoke even softer. "I’ve been having some- some trouble in my classes. The hands-on stuff, that I’m good with. In Charms and Transfiguration and Herbology, if we’re not doing notes or anything in class then I’m alright but I have trouble, um, paying attention to the notes. I try, though! I really do! But then I get to thinking about the feathers on my quill or how Binns died or something else." Her eyebrows furrowed like little yellow caterpillars. "Even when I, when I do focus I can’t keep anything in here." She tapped her temple. "All this book stuff, it’s not really for me. I guess that’s why I’m not a Ravenclaw!" Chris gave a little nervous laugh and looked down at the glitter on the table.

I had no idea she had been struggling so much. Briefly, I wondered why she had kept this to herself, but seeing her struggle through this conversation I realized that this must have been very awkward for her. I certainly understood the need for privacy.

"Oh. That’s, um, that’s too bad, Chris," I said. "What can I do?"

She tilted her head a little. "Well, I talked to McGonagall and she told me to talk to all my professors. They’re all really, really understanding and are gonna help me out. I can use a Scribe Quill- mum and dad sent me a few- and my exams will be more practical than written. Yeah, they were all great about it. Except, um, except-"

"Snape?"

"Snape," she confirmed, nodding slowly. She shook her head. "He, uh, he wasn’t very… accommodating… at all. He said he, quote, wouldn’t give special treatment to one student just because they cannot manage the rigours of education, end-quote. But if Malfoy asked for something he’d do it no problem." Her words stung with bitter contempt. "He did recommend, though, that I get help from a student. And his personal recommendation was, um, well, it was you."

"Me? Why me?" I asked. I had had only one brief interaction several weeks ago with the pale professor when he peered at my potion and announced that it looked not as disastrous as the rest of my table. "Wouldn’t one of the Ravenclaws be better?"

Chris shook her head with an amused smile. "I asked too. No offence," she clarified, "but I thought one of them would be better too, but he said you’re at the top of Potions in our year."

I was thoroughly shocked. I mean, I know I had done well on assignments and despite having a rather unlikable professor, I was enjoying the class, probably more than my other classes. But top in our year? "Are you sure that- that Bo or Padma or Terry or even Hermione isn’t top?"

"Nope. He said you. Dally Lestrange."

I think that was the first time she’d said my full name; her voice cracked a little on the last syllable and her smile faltered momentarily.

"What about an upper year student?" I asked. "They’d know more."

"I asked about that too. He said a first-year’s better, 'cause we have the same schedules. So,"she said, drawing out the syllable. Glancing around to make sure our conversation was truly unheard, she continued: "Will you? Will you help?"

I mumbled out some incoherent filler syllable as irrationality seized my thoughts. What if it’s all a set up? What if this is Snape’s joke? Or maybe she’s in with the Slytherins? But that wouldn’t make sense. So why is she asking me? Why would she want me? Who would need me? And what if I can’t help? _And what if she says no? I can’t fail… Why won’t she answer?_ Wait, what? That’s not… lost my train of thought… where–

"Dally? Dally!"

"Hmm?" I shook as the demon of illogic fled my mind, my mental presence returning to the world where Chris was staring intently at me, the fingers of her right hand tapping at the table with increasing intensity.

"Will you–"

"Oh, yeah! Yeah, sure. I’ll help," I said. Why not? "Do you want to talk tonight more about it? We can go over what you want help with and when we, uh, when we want to meet?"

Chris nodded, showing her teeth in a pleased grin. "Thanks! Yeah, that’d be great!"

I nodded and offered a small smile. We sat in silence for a minute. Chris grew uncomfortable, her tapping starting up again and accelerating until she firmly placed her hand on the table to push herself up with. "Well, I should be going. I have breakfast to eat," she said. "Maybe I’ll see you at the game?"

"Yeah, maybe." No, definitely not. 

"Alright," she nodded once more (a rather excessive amount of nodding for one conversation, I thought). "See you! And thanks!"

"No problem," I said to a turned back. Bewildered, I turned intently to my yogourt in hopes that it could explain how I was beating out Hermione – not to mention all the Ravenclaws – in Potions and why Snape would even share that information and why Chris liked (or maybe tolerated was a better word) me enough to ask for help and, of course, the ongoing confusion about what Theo wanted to discuss.

The yogourt was most unhelpful.

* * *

When the time came, I made my way down to the Quidditch pitch, walking alone in the crowd. I veered off from the group, making my way down towards our secret spot; as Theo had said, there was a path, though I wouldn’t have noticed it (and hadn’t in all the times we had ventured that way) had I not known about it. It was grown over with shrubbery and prickly vines that latched onto my robes. In some places, the path was constricted by a convergence of dark trees. In others, Draco’s two mammoth friends could have walked side-by-side quite comfortably. 

"How did Theo find this place?" I wondered.

As the cheers from the Quidditch pitch grew quieter–though the competitive spirit was still audible–the path widened gradually to a clearing that opened to the Lake. There, sitting on a rather healthy looking patch of grass, was Theo, his dark hair raining small drops onto the green collar of his robes. 

"Is this where you go sometimes? When you disappear for lunch?" I asked. He jumped a little and turned. 

"Yes. It’s quiet. Private." He paused, motioning for me to sit next to him. "I like to swim here."

"Oh," I said, slipping down onto the ground beside him. "Swimming. That’s, um, that’s good for your heart. Cardio."

One of Theo’s eyebrows twitched upwards, dragging with it the corner of his mouth into a small smirk. "Neither of us are good with our small talk, Dally."

"True," I said. We both liked our monosyllabic words and sentence fragments, though I suspected that like mine, his inner monologue was much more active. "What did you want to talk about?"

His smirk faded away slowly. His gaze dropped to his hands, clasped before him, rubbing together meticulously. "I, uh, I wanted to talk, to talk to you- but it’s probably, maybe, better if you don’t- if you wait until I’m done. Okay?"

Whatever few words came out of Theo’s mouth, they were usually articulate. I’d never heard him stumble as he did now. My worries about this meeting changed from my own selfish anxieties to concern for this new Theo. I nodded my agreement to his request.

Theo began his story.

"So, our spot. Where you and Benji and Bo and I go, Franklin and my father told me about. Franklin, that’s my brother. I told you about that, the first day we went there, right? How we’re the only ones who can find it, unless we tell someone? The brother and father used that spot – this one, where I swim, I found myself – but the other one, it used to be mostly just Slytherins who knew about it. And not Slytherins like me. Slytherins like, well, Franklin and my father. Or Malfoy. Malfoy’s father and mine, they were good friends during their time here."

Hardly surprising, I thought. At the periphery of my awareness were the cheers of the Quidditch crowd. Here, though, Theo’s words were entrancing, intriguing; his physical stillness was a little alarming.

"I hope, by now, you understand my point. That spot, it was an early headquarters for people like Malfoy’s father and my father and your, um, your mother. Death Eaters, that is. I’m sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have said it like that. But you aren’t one, um, one of them, and nor am I. And I feel a bit strange being there, but I know it will be quiet and private and where others can’t find us. It’s really the only good thing my family ever did for me, giving me a sort of escape. A place to be with what some might consider friends."

I leaned forward, opening my mouth to tell him that yes, yes we were friends and-

"No, don’t say it. We have an agreement, remember? I guess, um, I guess what I wanted to talk about was my family. You, of anyone, might get it. The whole twisted family thing. My father is, unofficially of course, because otherwise he’d be in Azkaban, a Death Eater. He’s convinced Franklin of their ideals too, and I’m next. I think it might be comparable to the brainwashing of Germans during the Second Muggle War. I can’t imagine all the Nazis really wanted to hurt people, they just got convinced they were doing the right thing. That’s my father. I think."

Theo’s father, I assumed, had been a part of the Dark Lord’s circle long before Theo’s birth. I wondered if Theo’s own assumption was true, or just a remnant of innocent naïvety trying to picture his father as a good man.

"And yes, I do read muggle history. Fascinating, really. The whole thing about our war and theirs; the Dark Lord tried to convince us we were more than the muggles, but isn’t that exactly what Hitler said about the Jewish people? So doesn’t that prove that wizard and muggle motivations aren’t so different? And one might suppose- well, I’m getting off track. Perhaps a type of avoidance."

Silence does not exist in nature, and at any other moment I would have noticed the natural loudness of our surroundings – trees, birds, lake, insects, wind – but the physical world evaporated around us, erasing all sensory input. Even my body, and his, seemed to disappear. All that remained was Theo’s words. I was ignorant to the rest.

"My father, he’s no longer a good man. I can’t remember, exactly, if I’ve ever known him to be one. But he had to have been before, once. In Herbology, that class where Draco caused a stir with Professor Sprout? I’m sure you were wondering about the letter he had. Things aren’t- they are not too good at home, Dally. Franklin, he’s alright with our father. But Mother–and yes, she calls me Teddy, but don’t you dare laugh about it–Mother and Father don’t get along so well anymore.

"He gets very agitated, sometimes. When he drinks. Which isn’t often, but often enough to make Hogwarts a better place for me. He feels like he isn’t doing anything for 'the cause.' He wishes the Dark Lord would come back, and he hates Potter and the muggle-borns and Dumbledore and everything. Idolizes Bella, though. Mother, she’s not like that at all. She was in Ravenclaw, pureblood, but grew up in Muggle London. They don’t agree so much on things.

"I think… I think he gets so frustrated and angry that when we starts on the firewhiskey, it just all comes out. Usually on Mother. I didn’t realize, when I was younger, I didn’t understand what was happening. Franklin, he was older and always knew better, he’d just tell me that Father was doing his duty as the man and supporter of the house. A few years ago, when it was just the three of us and Franklin was here, it started getting worse. Mother didn’t know I knew she was healing her wounds every night, or maybe she did but just couldn’t explain any of it to me. I tried to stop him a few times, but it never ended well. One thing he likes from the muggles, it seems, was their use of fists and belts.

"I don’t want to talk too much about that, though, and I don’t want it ever brought up again, alright? I’m here now, at Hogwarts, and Franklin’s off studying in Russia so she’s alone with him but I’m going to fix it all. So this doesn’t leave this spot. That’s not even really what I wanted to talk about, though. It’s about Bo.

"When we came to Hogwarts, the four of us in the little boat, do you remember that Bo mentioned his father was no longer around? That’s because… because…"

The fragile reality where only his voice existed shattered with a violent sob and I was startled to see the usually stoic boy’s face suddenly slick and red with tears. He put his hands to his face to muffle the sound of his cries, a habit I wondered now if he had learned from his experiences at home. I felt a ball of confused negativity creep up my throat but I swallowed, forcing it back down.

"Theo," I whispered softly. I reached out a hand but when my fingers were only centimetres from his sleeve, I pulled back. "Theo, I, um- thank you. Thank you for telling me all this. I won’t ever tell anyone if you don’t want me to."

Theo nodded and choked on what I assumed was an expression of appreciation.

"I’m not sure if there’s anything I can, um, that I can do. But if you ever need to talk, I can," I said. "It’s not good to keep this in."

Another nod, followed by a little hiccup. His breathing slowed and he began rocking a little, wringing his hands together. "Thank you, Dally. I will keep that in mind." Neither of us spoke, but the previously tuned-out natural loudness seemed to calm his stimming within a few minutes. 

"I need to finish this, now. What I’ve been wanting to tell you since we first met."

"About Bo."

"Yes." His words were barely audible."His father was an Auror who rounded up the Death Eaters after the Dark Lord died, and my father murdered him."

His brusque manner caught me off-guard. "Theo," I started. "Theo, listen-"

"And now, it’s November. Two months I’ve lied to him. And now you know why I can’t call him a friend. How do I tell him? Do I tell him? He’ll find out eventually. And then what? Then it all comes out that Theodore Nott’s father murdered the popular guy’s. Theo’s another Death Eater, like his father. Theo is evil, Theo is worthless, Theo is _nothing_ , Theo is-"

"Stop! Stop! Shh," I said, this time not hesitating to touch his arm. "Theo, I- I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to solve this. My own experience with this matter hasn’t been all that great. But you need to calm down. Bo and Benji and I, we all know that you’re not like that. Theo, you aren’t your father, like I’m not Bellatrix."

Theo had resumed his rocking and his eyes were watering again.

"It’s okay to cry, Theo. I promise it will make everything a little better. I’m not going anywhere."

* * *

I returned to the Gryffindor Tower late to discover that Harry Potter, the youngest seeker in Hogwarts history, had won the first match for the team. There was much excitement in the common room that night and I found Chris, who was enjoying the party; we agreed to meet in the morning instead to discuss Potions. All the better, as I was exhausted from my conversation with Theo. He was distraught for nearly half an hour, and then we talked. 

He told me more about his parents, how they met and what he knew about how his dad joined the Dark Lord. I wondered if there were things he knew he wasn’t disclosing to me, but I didn’t push. He told me about his father and firewhiskey, about Franklin and how he treated their mom and Theo, about the first time his dad hit him. Then he talked about the stories his dad told at the dinner table, scary stories about the Dark Lord’s greatest accomplishments, nightmarish accounts for most people but old reminiscings for a nostalgic Death Eater. One of those stories described the murder of Jasper Axxelson, an act of initiative on the older Nott’s part apparently.

We talked about my problems with Hermione and my other roommates and the professors and Neville and really the rest of the Wizarding World; I said that things were getting better, slowly, for me at Hogwarts.Regrettably, I focused only on those external struggles, failing to explain my own internal problems. After all, he trusted me enough, so why couldn’t I trust him? Perhaps that was a conversation for another time. Perhaps it would do me some good and make these damned headaches cease.

We avoided the topic of how to tell Bo. That wasn’t something two vulnerable kids had enough maturity for. For now, we agreed, it would be a shared secret. I tried to convince him that his home life shouldn’t be so secret, and that maybe he should talk to an adult who might do something about it, like Dumbledore or even McGonagall, but he refused. Could I blame him? His father seemed like a frightening man. Disturbed parents; what an unfortunate commonality to share with another person.

We left with only fifteen minutes to spare before curfew. I wished he didn’t have to go back to Slytherin by himself- being trapped in a physical dungeon could not have been good for his mental state. Before we parted ways in the entrance, I wrapped my arms around him in a hug (something I think neither of us were completely comfortable with). Reluctantly, he returned the gesture and we stood amidst the natural loudness of the school, the unnatural silence between us, holding on to shared experience and pain and understanding. With a rushed "goodnight," he broke away, shuffling towards the emerald prison and its unruly inmates; I hoped they wouldn’t bother him tonight.

Collapsing on my bed, I enveloped myself in the thick blankets and prayed to find rest and warmth, something comforting. Sleep found me quickly, but brought with it troubled dreams lacking a coherent plot but rife with discomfort and trepidation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long monologue there, but I know that some people (myself included) need to speak and not be interrupted when talking about personal problems. When that happens, I find everything else slips away, and I tried to mimic that.
> 
> On another note, I have the rest of this story mapped out and have another 8 chapters planned. Ideally, I’ll be posting once a month or more but I can’t guarantee anything.
> 
> I hope if you’re reading that you’re enjoying and I would love any comments you have! Until next time :) - m.


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